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SATCHEL SERIES, No. 26. 



PRICE 25 CENTS. 

f 




YESTERDAYS IN PARIS 


A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 


BY 




WILLIAM BRADFORD. 

i I 



THE AUTHORS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
27 Bond Street. 



Copyright, 1880, 

By the Authors’ Publishing Company, 

NEW YORK. 






YESTERDAYS IN PARIS 


CHAPTER I. 

It was the spring-time of the year, a bright day; 
all Paris seemed to be out for a holiday. The Tuil- 
leries, the Champs Elysees, the Bois de Boulogne 
swarmed with idlers. A looker on perhaps would 
have wondered where Toil was at work, and in what 
corner hideous Want concealed itself. Yet Paris had 
but just emerged from a terrible bath of bullets and 
blood. The Column Vendome . was in ruins, the 
people were taxed to the utmost to pay the extor- 
tionate demand of the German victors ; sad faces, 
and forms clothed in black, appeared at every step 
on the Boulevard, the living monuments of what war, 
internal discord, and the terrible hand of the Com- 
mune had accomplished. There had also been a gi- 
gantic struggle of opposing political factions, Orlean- 
ists, Legitimists, Imperialists, and last but not least, 


6 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


Republicans — these last seemed to have been pre- 
dominant. 

Thiers was the President at the time our story- 
opens, which was in the year 1873. They had taken 
as an example the great and successful Republic of 
America, so successful, in fact, that its very success 
may tend to corrupt it. The leaders in the Repub- 
lican movement in France had said to themselves : 
“The American republic is the sole one worth study- 
ing, for it has lasted. The principal causes of its 
stability are in the checks to democratic fickleness 
and disorder. 

1st. No law affecting the constitution can be al- 
tered without the consent of two-thirds of Congress, 

2d. To counteract the impulses natural to a popu- 
lar assembly chosen by universal suffrage, the greater 
legislative powers, especially in foreign affairs, are 
' vested in the Senate, which has even executive as 
well as legislative functions. 

3d. The chief of the State having elected his gov- 
ernment, can maintain it independent of hostile ma- 
jorities in either assembly; these three principles were 
those sought for the basis of a new constitution for 
France; also “for France it is essential, that the 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


7 


chief magistrate, under whatever title, should be as 
irresponsible as an English sovereign. The day for 
personal government is gone ; the sovereign people — 
not the one-man power.” All this, of course, was 
greatly different from the old regime. There were a 
great many sore-heads in France, especially in Paris. 
Among the most dissatisfied were naturally to be 
found the shopkeepers ; the brilliant days of the Em- 
pire, which drew the rich from all parts of the world 
to spend their money in Paris, were bright memories 
only ; the days when fashion reigned magnificently, 
were succeeded by those of republican simplicity. 
The journals of Europe were saying, “ the Parisians 
are going to turn over a new leaf, sobered by misfor- 
tunes, despise pleasure and luxury, become studious 
and thoughtful, and live like German professors.” 

Paris was no longer, “ Le Paradis des Femmes.” 

Napoleon III. has been compared to the Roman 
emperor Augustus. Each succeeds to the heritage of 
a great name that had contrived to unite autocracy 
with the popular cause. Each subdued all rivals and 
ruled despotically in the name of freedom at first. 
Each once firmly established became mild and clement. 
Here is the difference. Augustus rallied around him 


8 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


the greatest poets and scholars of the age. Napoleon 
III. banished all real talent, and his praises are not 
hymned by a single great poet. The cd^briUs of a 
former time exiled, assailed him from their asylum on 
foreign shores. 


YESTEJiDA YS IN PARIS, 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

On this bright spring morning before alluded to, 
when the trees, as well as Paris, the gay vivacious 
city, seemed to burst into new life, sauntering care- 
lessly along the Boulevard des Italiens, appeared a 
young man who might be some five or six and 
twenty. Heeding little the throng through which he 
glided his solitary way, there was that in his aspect 
and bearing which caught attention. He looked a 
somebody ; his gait was not that of a Parisian — less 
lounging, more stately ; artd unlike the Parisian, he 
seemed indifferent to the gaze of others. Neverthe- 
less there was about him that air of dignity or dis- 
tinction which those who are reared from their cradle 
in the pride of birth acquire so unconsciously that it 
seems hereditary and inborn. It must also be con- 
fessed that the young man himself was endowed with 
a considerable share of that nobility which nature 
capriciously distributes among her favorites with little 
respect for their pedigree, the nobility of form and 


I'O 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


face. He was tall and well shaped, with graceful 
length of limb ; his face was handsome, of the purest 
type of masculine beauty ; the eyes blue, the expres- 
sion of the face noble, firm, decided, but kindly. The 
mouth firmly compressed, showing him to be a man ; 
a resolution or resolve once fixed upon, became a ter- 
rible reality ; one of those natures who feel deeply, 
but act promptly. 

Another man apparently about the same age, but 
of an entirely different type, coming quickly out of one 
of the streets of the Chaussee d’ Antin brushed close by 
the stately young man just described, caught sight of his 
countenance, stopped short, and exclaimed, “ Walter! 

The young man so abruptly accosted, looked tran- 
quilly for a moment on the eager face covered with 
heavy black whiskers, and politely raising his hat as 
if to imply his utter ignorance of the person address- 
ing him, was about to pass on, when the other, with 
a well-bred mixture of boldness and cordiality, said : 

“ Ma foi, Walter ; have you forgotten the old days 
of the Empire when you were here? The jolly dances 
with the grisettes in the Jardin Laboulaye ; the sup- 
pers at Tortoni’s ; lastly but not least, your old friend 
Victor Dufaure?” 


YESTERDA YS EJY PARIS. 


II 


‘‘Is it possible!” cried Walter cordially, and with an 
animation which changed the whole character of his 
countenance. “ My dear Victor ! my dear friend ! this 
is indeed good fortune. So you survived the siege ? ” 

“ Of course ; and you — when did you arrive from 
Old England ? ” 

“ A fortnight since,” replied Walter. 

“ Hem, I suppose you lodge in the grand old man- 
sion which your uncle owned } I passed by it yester- 
day, admiring its vast fagade, little thinking you were 
its inmate.” 

“ Neither am I ; it has passed from our family 
some time since.” 

“ Vraiment ! I hope you got a good price for it ; 
those aristocratic old hotels have tumbled in value 
since Thiers and the Republic have come in sway.” 

“ I don’t know, I am sure. My uncle left Paris 
so suddenly after the battle of Sedan, that his affairs 
must have suffered, and — Well, I am here once more, 
stopping at the Hotel Chatham, a place much fre- 
quented by the Americans. O Victor, they are such 
a rum lot ; some of them don’t know a word of 
French. One of them sat next to me at table d'hote 
yesterday. He ate four kinds of soup before he got 


12 


YESTEI^DA YS IN PARIS. 


to the fish, and he would probably have gone on in- 
definitely filling himself with soup, had I not seen his 
dilemma and explained the nature of the menu'' 

Victor, with a true Parisian appreciation of the 
ridiculous, was laughing heartily at his friend’s rela- 
tion. 

‘‘ But,” continued the other, “they are not all so — ” 

“ A la bonheur ! " exclaimed the Parisian quickly, 
as soon as he could stop laughing. 

“ — I met in London a Lieut-Commander Moore, of 
the American Navy, said to be very influential at 
their capital, Washington, and his most charming wife 
— and, Victor, you know how lovely the American 
ladies are ? ” 

“ Trbs bien, and lots of money, too, I suppose.” 

“ About that I can’t say, but here is the card 
they gave me, ‘ Lieut-Commander Frank G. Moore 
and wife, 22 Avenue Josephine.’” 

“Ah! I know,” said Victor “they must be rich; 
the house is beautiful — in a trbs belle quartier." 

“ Indeed ! Well, I was on my way there to make 
a call when you stopped me.” 

“ A thousand pardons ! don’t let me detain you.” 

“ Call on me to-morrow about noon.” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


13 


I will, and you must breakfast with me.” 

“ With pleasure, Victor, old boy. Bon, a demainB 

“ A demain'^ 

Left alone, our friend hurried on. 

As the day wore on, the caf6s began to light up, 
and Paris the most brilliantly lighted city in the world, 
began to shine and flash forth its brilliancy in the 
night air. It is now about time to tell a little more 
about the antecedents of our friend, Mr. Walter At- 
tenborough, for such was his name. Of a wealthy 
aristocratic and very ancient English family, his father 
came into possession, after a long minority, of what 
may be called in England a fair squire’s estate and 
about half a million in moneyed investments, inherited 
on the female side. Both land and money were ab- 
solutely at his disposal, unencumbered by entail or 
settlement. He was a man of a brilliant irregular 
genius, of princely generosity, of splendid taste, with 
great pride of birth. This gentleman at the age of 
forty married the dowerless daughter of a poor but 
distinguished army officer and closely related to some 
of - the best and oldest families in the kingdom of 
Great Britain. He was a man of a decided nature. 
He once said, “ I was born to the freedom of a pri- 


14 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


vate gentleman, but I will bring up my son so that 
he may acquit the debt I owe, in the way of public 
service, to my country,” and he did. So Walter, at 
seventeen years of age, left Eton. He then entered 
Cambridge, and became in his first term the most 
popular speaker at the Union. Here his father cut 
short his school career in England, and sent him to 
Paris. He was at school there, at the time of the 
breaking out of the Franco-Prussian war, but went 
back to England, and had remained there until the 
close of the war ; and at the time we are now speak- 
ing of he was attached to the English Embassy at 
Paris, and had but just arrived to enter upon his 
duties. His father was dead, killed a year previous 
by a fall from his horse in hunting; his mother, and 
two sisters were in England. 


YESTEJ^DA YS IN PARIS. 


15 


CHAPTER III. 

A PRETTY little house near the Bois de Boulogne; 
there are a few lime-trees in the yard clothed in 
green ; a canary-bird sings sweetly suspended in the 
window. Seated at this window, is a girl, appar- 
ently two or three and twenty. She is very lovely — 
what Tong dark eyelashes ! what soft, tender, dark- 
blue eyes ! Now that she looks up and smiles, what 
a bewitching smile it is ! By what beautiful dimples 
the smile is enlivened ! Do you notice one feature — 
in very showy beauties it is seldom noticed — it is 
her ear. Remark how delicately it is formed in her 
— none of that heaviness of lobe which is a sure 
sign of sluggish intellect and coarse perception. Hers 
is the artist’s ear. Note next those hands — how 
beautifully shaped ! Small but not doll-like hands ; 
ready and nimble : firm and nervous hands, that 
could work for a helpmate. About her there was a 
charm apart from her mere beauty ; it consisted in 
a combination of exquisite artistic refinement, and 


1 6 YESTERDAYS m PA J^IS. 

of a generosity of character by which refinement 
was animated into vigor and warmth. 

A beautiful old lady of eighty years enters the 
room, with a face like that of the unfortunate queen 
of Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette. 

“ Marianile, to whom are you writing?” 

“ To Valerie, grandmother dear. You know she 
is so lonely.” 

“ I know, love. Read me what you have written.” 

“ Come, then, grandmother dear, to my room ; I 
left the first part there.” 

Marianne’s room had in it much that spoke of the 
occupant, everything plain but neat. There are two 
kinds of neatness, one is too obtrusive, and makes all 
things about it seem trite and cold and stiff — the other 
disappears from our sight in a satisfied sense of com- 
pleteness — like some elegant, finished, yet simple style 
of writing. Easy chairs, vases filled with flowers, 
slight knick-knacks, well-bound volumes, which, even 
in travelling, women who have cultivated the pleas- 
ure of taste carry about with them. All had been 
coaxed into that quiet harmony, that tone of consist- 
ent subdued color which corresponded with the char- 
acteristics of the inmate. 


YES TEJADA YS IN PARIS. 


17 


“ Now, said Marianne, I will read you my letter 
to my darling little sister Valerie,” and in a voice 
sweetly modulated she read as follows : “ I can never 
express to you, my beloved sister, the strange delight 
which a letter from you throws over my poor little 
lonely world for days after it is received. Sometimes 
I am very discontented with you, then I remember 
discontent is the want of self-reliance, and forgive 
you for not writing oftener to your poor sister. The 
other evening I went to dine with some American 
friends whom taizte knew in America. After din- 
ner a celebrated singer sang to us. I was persuaded 
to sing after her. I need not say to what disadvan- 
tage. But I forgot my nervousness ; I forgot my au- 
dience ; I forgot myself, as I always do -when once 
my soul,' as it were, finds wing in music relieved 
from the sense of earth. I knew not that I had suc- 
ceeded till I came to a close, and the hearty applause 
assured me. Looking at the face of the artiste, I 
saw that I had pained her. She had grown almost 
livid, her lips were quivering, and it was only with a 
great effort she muttered out some faint words, in-, 
tended, I suppose, for applause. Why will people let 
jealousy so control them. I fear I must give up my 


1 8 YE S TEJADA YS IN PARIS. 

solitary walks in the Bois de Boulogne ; they were 
very dear to me, partly because the quiet path I 
selected was the one yoUy ma ch^rey habitually se- 
lected when at home. But of late that path has lost 
its solitude, and therefore its charm. Six days ago 
the first person I encountered in my walk, was a 
man whom I did not then heed. He seemed in deep 
thought or perhaps reverie, like myself. We passed 
each other two or three times, but I did not notice 
whether he was young or old, tall or short ; but he 
was there the next day, and a third day, and then 
I saw he was young, and in so regarding him his 
eyes became fixed on mine. I told grandmama, and 
she said that our customs in Paris would not permit 
demoiselles comme il fauty to walk alone even in 
the most sequestered paths of the Bois. I begin now 
to understand your contempt of customs and habits 
which impose chains so galling on the liberty of our 
sex. Why can’t we be more like the American girls? 
they go everywhere alone, secure in their own self- 
respect. Excuse the dulness of this letter. Gustave 
and grandmama send love. Come home soon, love ! ” 
“ There, grandmama, it is finished ; and now I 
must go and see about my dress for this evening. 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS, 


19 


You know I am invited to be at a soiree at the resi- 
dence of Lieut.-Commander Moore, and his charming 
wife. Both are Americans of culture. She is deli- 
cately handsome, as the American women generally 
are, with a frank vivacious manner, more French than 
English, and you are going too, grandmama, as my 
chaperon.” 

Now, it is time to introduce the Moreaus. Ten 
years previous they were living a few miles south of 
the city of New Orleans, in the southern part of the 
United States, owners of a large plantation and many 
slaves. The revenue received from their estate was 
more than sufficient for all wants. The father and 
mother of Marianne had died some years previous, 
and they, together with their grandmother and aunt, 
or “ Tante ” as they called her, had gone to Paris. 
During their sojourn there the American civil war, 
with its attendant evil to the rich of the South, 
Emancipation, had robbed the family of a greater 
part of their property, and it was only by the ut- 
most efforts that a small part remained still to them. 
Their father was by birth a Frenchman, and they by 
a long residence in Paris had become French in feel- 
ing and tastes. The only inmates of the family now 


20 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS 


were the two young ladies, their aunt and grand- 
mother, and Gustave Poyard, from New Orleans, an 
old friend, who served as protector to the young 
ladies, and was as good as engaged to Valdrie, the 
youngest sister. He had come to Paris zealous to 
study art. He had thrown himself with all his soul 
into the study of the beautiful. Paris abounds in 
art. France is the land of art. Nowhere is art so 
thoroughly appreciated, and nowhere does it attain 
that high degree of finish and perfection (illustrated 
by the brush of Delacroix, Meissonier, and others of 
that school) as at Paris ; but our young friend found 
the cooling blasts of poverty chill his ardor, and at 
the time we write he had entered mercantile life, 
and was succeeding. His history is only that of 
thousands. And now let us leave the Moreaus for 
the present and look in upon the American com- 
mander and his charming wife. 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


21 


CHAPTER IV. 

The guests had assembled at the Moore’s when 
Attenborough entered. His apology for unpunctu- 
ality was cut short by the lively hostess: ‘‘Your par- 
don is granted without the disgrace and humiliation 
of asking for it ; we know that the characteristic of 
the English is always to be a little behindhand.” 
“Yes/’ replied Attenborough good-naturedly, “slow 
and sure.” She then proceeded to introduce him to 
Colonel Pierre, Mrs. Greer, and Mademoiselle Moreau. 
Colonel Armand Pierre was a fine type of the French 
soldier, tall, erect, with a huge moustache and impe- 
rial “<3: Iti Napoleon^ He must have been singularly 
handsome in his youth — he was so still, though prob- 
ably in his forty-seventh, or forty-eighth year ; the 
darkness of his hair was contrasted by a clear fair- 
ness of complexion, healthful though somewhat pale, 
and eyes of that rare gray tint which has in it no 
shade of blue — peculiar eyes which give ^a very dis- 
tinct character to the face. A close observer would 


22 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


notice the lines of care or sorrow between nostril and 
lip. He was certainly a brave man. In the days of 
the Empire he had been in command of the house- 
hold guard of the Empress Eugenie, composed of 
picked men. During the war later he was the first 
man to enter Paris, at the head of his regiment, de- 
feating the lawless Commune. Since that time he 
had been attached to the person of Thiers, the 
President of the French Republic. Well-bred, gal- 
lant, he could adorn any salon which he chose to 
honor with his presence. On such occasions he sank 
the mere soldier in the polished, cultured gentleman, 
very well informed on all matters pertaining to draw- 
ing-room conversation. 

“Have you ever visited the United States, mad- 
emoiselle ? ” asked Attenborough seating himself near 
Marianne. 

“Yes, I was born there.” 

“ Indeed ! I should not have supposed it ; but you 
are not an American ? ” 

“ Partly, by birth. My father was French.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the Lieut-Commander solemnly 
striking into the conversation. We Americans are an 
appreciative people, and if the young lady sings as 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


23 


well as I am told she does, she could command any 
amount of dollars ; they would shell out lively there.” 

Marianne colored, and turning to Attenborough, in 
a low tone asked him if he were fond of music. 

“ I ought of course to say yes,” answered he in 
the same tone, but perhaps that would not be hon- 
est. In some moods I like music — and in those moods 
it deeply affects me. I always thought it necessary 
to be largely endowed with a sympathetic nature, not 
only to sing but to appreciate the singer. Some fa- 
mous man has said, ‘ One must have known sorrow 
to thoroughly appreciate the soft sounds and combi- 
nations of harmony.’ A concert wearies me shame- 
fully ; even an opera always seems to me a great deal 
too long. Entre nous, I doubt if there be one English- 
man in five hundred who would care for either opera 
or concert, if it were not the fashion to say he did. 
Does my frankness revolt you ? ” 

Au contraire, I have lately doubted my own thor- 
ough appreciation of the beautiful art.” 

“ What, you ! ” exclaimed Attenborough impulsively, 
then checking himself, added quietly, “ Genius can 
never be untrue to itself, and must love that in which 
it excels.” 


24 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


“ Genius is a divine word, and not to be applied 
to the singer,” replied she in a tone of deep earnest- 
ness tinged with humility. 

Walter was struck with the reply, and was about 
to answer, when the host approached and asked him 
to join the colonel and himself -in a game of billiards. 
Inwardly regretting the interruption, Attenborough left 
his beautiful friend, if not in love — somewhere very 
near it, at least. With her, the conversation during 
the game naturally ran on the all-absorbing question 
of the day, politics. Attenborough was drawn into 
it, and grew animated. 

“ Thiers’s position is very uncertain now. I hear 
the Duke De Broglie is at the head of a powerful op- 
position, and their object is, I hear — ” 

“ Yes,” interrupted the colonel, “ Thiers knows it 
himself. It was only a few days since he said to 
several of us who were near him at the time, ‘ I assure 
you, mes amis, that a majority — what is called a ma- 
jority in parliamentary language — I never had for one 
minute in the Assembly elected on February 8, 1871, 
an incongruous body composed of monarchial factions. 
I made successive majorities for every important and 
necessary question. I am blamed for not having es- 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


25 


tablished the Republic quickly enough. I took up the 
most important thing first ; I made haste to free French 
soil from foreign troops before I should be overthrown, 
and so be too late.’ ” 

“ We Americans,” here added the Lieut.-Command- 
er, “ naturally sympathize with every movement made 
in Paris and France towards the firm foundation of 
a Republican government ; we think it is what you 
want — the one best adapted to the French people. 
But one of your own statesmen has said, ‘ The French 
lack character.’ What I suppose he meant by that 
was, you are too apt to be swayed and governed by 
the excitement of the moment, and our statesmen 
are inclined to doubt the permanency of the Repub- 
lic in France, owing to the powerful opposition to 
it.” 

“Too true,” answered the colonel, “our people 
are not educated fully up to the idea as yet of self- 
government. We are not ‘ to the manor born.’ We 
have much to learn, but we have had terrible les- 
sons from the past. I, personally, was glad to see 
the Empire fall, and you head-shaking Americans that 
once extolled it, now see how rotten it was.” 

The colonel was a born orator, and his studies had 


26 


YE STEED A YS IN PARIS. 


been those of a political thinker. In common talk 
he was but the accomplished man of the world, easy 
and frank and genial, with a touch of good-natured 
sarcasm, but when the subject of politics, the science 
of humanity, caught his attention, he seemed a changed 
being. His cheek glowed, his eye brightened, his voice 
mellowed into richer tones. Marianne, who had ap- 
proached unobserved, save by Attenborough, listened 
to him with admiration. She was pleased also to no- 
tice in the attentive silence of his listeners that they 
shared the effect produced on herself. 

“ France,” continued the colonel, “ felt little regret 
when Napoleon died. He left but few admirers. A 
lady who knew him very intimately was asked one 
day what she thought of her former friend. She 
replied, ‘ He always had on me the effect of a 
woman,’ meaning by this that he had only the ap- 
pearance of vigor, and that his mind was as waver- 
ing and variable as it was chimerical. He made 
many mistakes. The folly of the Mexican Invasion, 
the impossibility of success on one hand, and the 
danger of a rupture with the United States on the 
other, was plain to everybody but himself.” 

Here the charming hostess put in an appearance, 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 2 / 

and no further conversation on political subjects en- 
sued. A little later Attenborough found himself 
again seated by the side of Marianne. 

“ I saw you enjoyed what the colonel said/' 
remarked Walter carelessly. 

“ How could I help it,” she answered naively. 

He winced a little at this, but said nothing. 

Poor dear grandmama !” she exclaimed suddenly 
looking over to that part of the room where the 
old lady was, “ how tired she must be.” 

“ Did she come with you ?” asked Walter. 

She laughed a pretty, low, silvery laugh, and re- 
plied, in English, “ She always goes with me. I 
have no one else now VaHrie has gone.” 

“And who pray is VaHrie?” asked Walter grow- 
ing more and more fascinated with his fair companion. 

“ My only sister.” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ Yes ; she returns soon frorti the South of France, 
where she has been all winter.” Here the lateness 
of the hour warned the visitors that it was time 
to depart. 

“ May I hope to see you again soon,” he whis- 
pered in a low tone. 


28 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


“ I should be happy to see you any time at our 
house,” she replied quietly handing him her card. 

“What a voice! what loveliness!” he murmured 
softly to himself as he walked rapidly to his hotel; 
“ and now I think of it, it is the same face I saw in 
the Bois that has haunted me ever since.” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


29 


i 

CHAPTER V. 

The Caf6 Anglais, on the Boulevard des Italiens, 
was crowded. Our friends Victor and Walter found 
a table with some little difficulty. Victor proposed a 
private cabinet, but for some reasons known only to 
himself, Attenborough declined. Victor of his own 
accord and unrequested ordered the breakfast and the 
accompanying wine, while waiting for their oysters, 
with which, when in season, French bon vivants very 
often commence with. 

Victor, with that air of inimitable scrutinizing su- 
perb impertinence, which distinguishes the Parisian 
youth, gazed around the salon. Some of the ladies 
returned his glance coquettishly, for Victor was beau 
garqon^ others turned and muttered something to their 
escorts. Said escorts, when old, shook their heads and 
continued to eat unmoved. When young, looked 
fiercely at Victor for a moment, but, encountering his 
eye — noticing the squareness of his shoulders — acted 
like the older ones, and continued to eat unmoved. 


30 


YESTEKDA YS IN PARIS. 


“Walter,” exclaimed Victor suddenly, “do you 
see that wiry-looking gentleman, with moustache and 
imperial stiffened and sharpened by cosmetics, with 
small eyes — pale olive-brown complexion, with an ex- 
pression of face not particularly striking, except for 
quiet immovability ? ” 

“ Yes ; and now I look closer, the expression re- 
solves itself into one keenly intellectual,” answered 
Walter studying the face pointed out to him, “ de- 
termined about the lips ; calculating about the brows. 
Altogether, Victor, the face of no ordinary man,” 

“ He is about the greatest speculator in France, 
almost the king of the Bourse, or stock exchange as 
you would call it in England.” 

Here the waiter brought the oysters. 

“ A most extraordinary man,” said Victor as he 
squeezed the lemon over his oysters, “ and very much 
to be admired.” 

“ I see nothing particularly striking in his face ; he 
looks like a bird of prey.” 

“ All men are more or less. The eagles are the 
heroes, the owls the sages — he is neither. I should 
rather call him a “ hawk,” but should take care to 
keep out of his clutches.” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


31 


“ Call him what you will,” answered Walter indif- 
ferently, “ he can be nothing to me.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” answered Victor, 
somewhat nettled by the indifference shown his hero. 
“ If you ever speculated ” — 

“ But I never do,” interrupted Walter quickly. 

“ Seven years ago he lived,” continued Victor, “ in 
a single chamber — au quatrUme^ near the Luxembourg. 
Now he has a hotel, not large, but charming, in the 
Champs Elysees, worth at least 600,000 francs. He 
has the genius for m.aking money, and turns and 
handles millions with an unequalled coolness and 
sang froid. 

“ Speculation, I suppose, did all this,” answered 
Walter quietly, and he added quickly, “ I suppose 
you speculate, Victor, now and then.” 

“ Of course, when I can get information from my 
friend over there. See, he bows to me ! ” 

The breakfast at length came to a close. Victor 
rang for the bill — glanced carelessly over it. “ Fifty 
francs,” said he throwing down the desired amount. 

“ Let me stand half,” answered Walter. 

My dear boy, not to be thought of. You are 
my guest for the day. Then I . will take you to the 


32 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


Opera — they play Faust to night. Paris has gone wild 
over Patti — ‘the divine/ as her admirers call her.” 

“ Indeed,” answered Walter listlessly ; his thoughts 
were on the beautiful face he had seen and conversed 
with the night before. 

“ Now, Walter, we will go to my rooms for a little 
while, then to the Bourse.” 

The young men were seated soon after in Victor’s 
apartments. Walter, well-bred as he was, could 
hardly suppress an exclamation at the luxury of the 
apartment. An entresol looking out on the Boule- 
vard, costly pictures, bronzes and statuettes of mar- 
ble — all showing a refined taste, reflected from mir- 
rors in Venetian frames. Parisians delight in mirrors. 
The tout ensemble was very favorable to that respect 
which the human mind pays to the evidences of 
money. Nor, indeed, was comfort less studied than 
effect. An easy divan, thick carpets, and capacious 
rockers. Having allowed his friend a few minutes to 
admire the salon^ the Parisian exquisite ordered a 
valet to bring coffee and liqueurs, and, throwing 
himself easily back on a divan, said to his friend, 
“Well, Walter, how long is it now since we were to- 
gether here at Paris ? ” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


33 


“ About five years, I think,” responded Walter 
thoughtfully. Then he added quickly, “ Have you 
been at Paris ever since ? ” 

“ Ever since ; was here during that awful siege, 
when rats brought fifty sous, and dog was a luxury.” 

“ Those must have been terrible days.” 

Terrible indeed ! We ate everything we could 

eat.” 

“Your father?” 

“ Was killed during the siege ; his fortune proved 
much larger than was suspected. The income from 
stocks, houses, . etc., amounted to 50,000 francs a year, 
but that is the least a Parisian who wants to be 
somebody can live upon now. It is not only that 
all prices have fabulously increased, but that the 
dearer things' become, the better people live. When 
I first came out, the world speculated on me. Now, 
in order to keep up my end of the line, I am forced 
to speculate on the world. So far I have been suc- 
cessful at the Bourse ; have made money ; got some 
good points.” 

“ Take care that reverses do not come, Victor,” 
responded his friend. 

“Forewarned is forearmed, so the old saying goes; 


34 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


but come, Walter, my boy, I must go to the Bourse 
now. You must see that abode of Croesus ; / ” 

To step down into the Boulevard, to hail a coupd, 
was done in a moment. 

“ Yes,” said Victor, the fact is, that gambling is one 
of the cravings of civilized man. 

“ The rouge et noir and roulette tables are forbid- 
den — the dens closed, but the passion for making 
money fast without working for it, must have its 
vent somewhere, and that somewhere is the Bourse, 
and it is exceedingly convenient — all the go. No dis- 
grace whatever to be seen there. On the contrary, 
it is the modeP 

The coupd stops at the Bourse, our friends mount 
the steps, glide through the large pillars, deposit 
their canes at a place destined for the purpose, and 
Walter follows his friend up a flight of stairs till he 
gains the open gallery round a vast hall below. Such 
a din! Such a clamor! disputations apparently 
wrathful, yet thousands changed hands every second. 
Not a cent but what was accounted for. Here Vic- 
tor seeing some friends excused himself. Walter, left 
alone, looked down into the hall crowded with eager, 
excited faces. “ Bulls” and “ bears” shouting, gesticu- 


YESTERDA YS IN’ PARIS, 


35 


lating violently at each other, as if one were about to 
strangle the other. A confusion, a Babel, which the 
ordinary cairn, cool matter-of-fact business man could 
with difficulty reconcile to the notion of quiet mer- 
cantile transactions — the purchase and sale of stocks. 
As Walter gazed he grew more and more bewildered. 
He felt himself gently touched on the shoulder. 
Turning quickly he saw Colonel Pierre. 

“ A lively scene,” said the Colonel quietly. “ This 
is the pulse of Paris ; it beats very rapidly.” 

“ It does indeed,” answered Walter. 

Is your Bourse in London like this?” 

“ I don’t know. At our Exchange the general 
public are not admitted. The victims are lacerated 
with closed doors, and their groans do not reach the 
outer world. Had we an exchange like this in a 
fashionable part of London, I suspect our national 
character would undergo a great change, especially if 
we could adopt your laws and become traders with- 
out risk of becoming bankrupts.” 

“ Yes,” responded the Colonel, “ we find it an insti- 
tution very necessary to the happiness, if not to the 
well-being of Paris. The crowd of well-born, daring 
young men without fortune and without profession — 


3 ^ 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


here they find employment, an avenir or future, a re- 
source. Frenchmen love danger, they court it; win 
at the Bourse and beauty smiles on you. ‘Nothing 
succeeds like success,’ and so it becomes a sort of 
tournament, it is a vent for French love of glory, and 
so the Bourse keeps Paris comparatively quiet — that 
is, as quiet as it can be.” The Colonel politely bowed, 
and left our young English friend. Looking down he 
saw, leaning against one of the pillars, the renowned 
financier he had that morning seen at the Cafe An- 
glais. 

He was standing apart from the throng. It would 
be difficult to explain the change in his countenance, 
but it forcibly struck Walter. The air was more dig- 
nified, the expression keener ; there was a look of con- 
scious power. In fact the man was here in his native 
element — in the field in which he had fought so many 
successful battles. Just like the orator — unnoticed in 
the drawing-room he becomes grand before an ad- 
miring and reverential audience. 

“Well, Walter, what do you think of the Bourse?” 
asked his friend Victor, at this moment returning. 

“ I cannot think of it yet, I am too confused. It 
seems as if I had been in the infernal regions and 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 37 

the agents de change were imps all trying to raise 
Satan.” 

“Pshaw! You would soon get your head clear.” 

“At the expense of my pocket, I fear,” responded 
Walter. 

“ The best way,” continued Victor, “ to beat 
Satan is to get so rich that he can’t tempt you ; he 
loves empty purses and empty stomachs.” 

“But do all people get rich here? Is not one 
man’s wealth many men’s ruin?” 

“ Generally speaking, yes, but under our present 
system Paris gets rich though at the cost of indi- 
viduals. Crowds are attracted here, resolved to ven- 
ture a small capital in the hope of a large one — a 
certainty for an uncertainty. The idea that it is 
necessary to seem rich, in order to be rich, takes 
hold on them. They live extravagantly, spend their 
money freely, and after one or two years — vanish.” 

“ That is, they stay until their money gives out,” 
said Walter with a smile. 

“ Yes, young men in Paris love pleasure, and pleas- 
ure costs money oftentimes, and so they frequent the 
Bourse, for is not youth the season of hope — and does 
not hope preside over the gaming-table ? ” 


38 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


“And I suppose others try to emulate others 
more fortunate than themselves, and so Paris is 
doubly enriched — by the fortunes it swallows up and 
by the fortunes it casts up.” 

“ Bravo, Walter, my boy, now you begin to see. 
Paris is -not the only city. New York, I hear, the 
financial centre of America, is nearly the same.” 

“ Come, Victor, let us move on. Speculation has 
no charms for me,” replied Walter. 

“ My dear fellow, don’t, like the malade imagi- 
naire^ cry before you are hurt. Nobody wants you 
to speculate.” Now we will go to dinner, then a 
drive, then to the Opera, que voulez vous de plus ? ” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


39 


CHAPTER VI. 

As the friends drove up to the entrance of the 
new Opera House (then but just completed), the long 
row of carriages told of the full house within. The 
night, although a spring one, was quite raw and 
chilly. Victor ran in to get a place on the line stand- 
ing in front of the ticket office. Walter stood for a 
moment outside. Just then a poor beggar woman, 
with a face which was once handsome, now furrowed 
by lines of care and ill-health, if not want, touched 
him on the arm. With the quick generosity of youth 
before deception has hardened the kinder impulses of 
the heart, he tossed the poor woman a gold piece. 
She seemed surprised by the value of the coin, 
thanked him kindly, and said in a tremulous tone 
of voice, “ God bless you, sir, may your heart-life be as 
happy as your days now seem to be.” The strangeness 
of the expression startled him. He felt a dread fore- 
boding of coming sorrow. A cloud seemed to have 
shut out for a moment the sun of his happiness — but 


40 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


in a moment it was gone — and laughing to himself he 
went in to the Opera House. The opera of the even- 
ing was Gounod’s masterpiece, “ Faust,” perhaps the 
real representative opera of the modern French school 
of musical composition. The house was crowded. 
Statesmen, diplomatists, generals, lovely women, and 
gorgeous dresses appeared on every side. Paris is with- 
out doubt the most cosmopolitan city in the world, 
and on such an occasion as the opera (and the Opera 
at Paris being partly supported by the government 
is a splendid affair) one could not fail to see represen- 
tatives from all parts of the civilized world. And then 
the building itself — the finest in the world of its kind 
— sets off the magnificence within it to great advan- 
tage, like the setting of a costly stone. 

During the first act of the opera our friends lis- 
tened intently to the music. At the first entr'acte Wal- 
ter, looking around, saw in one of the boxes the Ameri- 
can Commander Moore, and his wife (who, in a creamy 
colored silk, trimmed with artificial tea-roses, looked 
the embodiment of loveliness), Col. Pierre, Mrs. Greer 
(who, by the way, was a wealthy widow lady from New 
Orleans, a former friend of the Moreaus) and lastly (here 
his heart gave a bound) Mad’lle Marianne Moreau. 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


41 


^‘Walter,” said Victor, whose eyes had followed 
those of his friend, “who is that beautiful girl you 
are looking at ? By the expression of your face you 
seem to have seen her before. Is she French? — is 
she Italian ? Can she be English ? ” asked Victor of 
his friend hurriedly. 

Walter answered nothing. 

“ I should have guessed English, judging by the 
fairness of her complexion — French by the intelligence 
of her expression, and by that nameless refinement of 
air in which a Parisienne excels all the descendants of 
Eve, if it were not for her eyes. I never saw a French 
woman with that shade of blue.” 

“ I will tell you, Victor, I know her slightly. She 
is from New Orleans, America. Her father was 
French, her mother, I believe an American lady. That 
is all I can tell you.” 

At this moment Walter saw the Commander beck- 
oning to him. 

“ Victor, excuse me for an hour, will you please ? ” 

“ Assurhnent^ my dear boy.” 

“ A minute later Walter was in the box of the 
Commander. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure,” Mr. Atten- 


42 


VESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


borough, exclaimed Mrs. Moore to our friend Wal- 
ter. 

“ The more the merrier — that’s what we say in 
the States,” said the Commander shaking hands 
with Attenborough. 

“ Where can you find a place where the women 
are more beautiful and the men more gallant ? ” re- 
marked Colonel Pierre, whose eye had been roaming 
over the vast audience. 

“For the personification of true gallantry,” said 
Walter, “ one must take the Americans.” 

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Greer, observing Walter more 
closely than she had yet done, “and why?” 

“ Because, though less polished perhaps in manner, 
and more blunt in speech, they throw open the 
doors of their colleges, and admit to the professions 
their women, thus giving them an equal chance with 
men.” 

“ Bravo, Mr. Attenborough !” said Mrs. Moore clap- 
ping her hands together with delight. 

“ Attenborough,” said the Commander, in a solemn 
tone of voice, but with a twinkle of merriment in 
his eye, “ you have touched upon my wife’s favorite 
hobby. Woman’s Rights, and to punish you, I shall 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


43 


have you at our house day after to-morrow at din- 
ner. My wife will want to convert you more thor- 
oughly.” 

“Yes, do come,” added his wife. 

Walter accepted the invitation with a polite bow 
of thanks, and listened intently to the music of the 
second act, which was now under way. During the 
performance of this act he looked occasionally at Ma- 
rianne. The expression of her face was soft and 
somewhat sad, but unobservant ; he longed to speak 
to her, but during the time he had been in the box, 
she had scarcely noticed him, beyond a polite bow 
of recognition, when he had first entered, at the 
close of the act. A friend of the Commander’s came 
in for a moment and then went out. 

“That man, sir,” said the Commander to Colonel 
Pierre, “ was one of the bravest generals in our late 
civil war in America.” 

“ On which side was he ? ” asked the Colonel. 

“On the Union side, sir.” 

“I suppose the bitter feeling has somewhat dis- 
appeared between the North and South of your great 
country,” said the Colonel. 

“ Some — yes, but not entirely. We cannot but 


44 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


think it was a good thing for the country to have 
rid itself of a class of lazy purse-proud Southerners, 
who despised labor ” — the Commander being accus- 
tomed to ships, and giving orders in a loud tone, 
had unconsciously acquired an elevated tone of voice 
in conversation. 

Mrs. Greer, seated near, overheard the conversation. 
It was more than she could bear; well-bred as she 
was, and accustomed to self-control, a flush of in- 
dignation mantled her cheek. Turning to the Com- 
mander, in a tone polite yet firm and decided, she 
said, “ Whatever may have been our shortcomings, 
we at least taught our sons to be gentlemen, and 
revere and respect the feelings of others.” 

The Commander looking rather foolish, surprised 
at the suddenness of the attack, turned to his wife, 
who shook her finger at him. The Colonel very 
much pained felt that a “brilliant flash of silence” 
was the most acceptable thing for him. Happily 
Walter was so absorbed in a conversation with Ma- 
rianne that he had not heard the conversation. The 
Colonel, a moment after, excusing himself, was seen 
soon after in conversation with Thiers, then the 
President of the French Republic, who was that 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


45 


evening at the Opera, and whose downfall was then 
daily expected. During the exquisite music of the 
third act, in which the great tenor solo “ Salve di- 
mora” forms so prominent a feature, Walter now and 
then whispered in a low tone to Marianne, in such a 
way as to cause Mrs. Greer, who was acting that 
evening as her chaperon, to be somewhat uneasy, 
but she had perfect confidence in her fair charge. 
Walter remained in the box until the close of the 
act, then excusing himself — not, however, before he 
had promised Marianne to call on her on the mor- 
row — he rejoined Victor, whom he found smoking a 
cigarette in the foyer. 

“ Walter, old boy, where have you been this age,” 
was his salutation on seeing his friend. “I've got 
some fun on hand yet to-night for you. At the Cafe 
Chantants on the Champs Elys^es, they sing the Mar- 
seillaise now, after so many years being forbidden, and 
the way they sing it ! — but I suppose it will soon grow 
old like everything does in Paris. 

“ I suppose,” said Walter, “ the only way is to 
put an injunction on the tune.” 

“ Yes, then it will keep fresh ! ” or, added Victor, 
“ we can go to-morrow afternoon to the Cirque de 1’ Et^ 


46 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


on the Champs Elysees also, and hear the famous 
“ Garde Republicaine Band ” fresh from America’s big 
jubilee at Boston. They play American airs at the 
close, and the people all shout at the top of their 
voices and applaud. 

“What is that for?” asked Walter. 

“ Oh, the Americans are all the rage here now.” 

“Not because they spend so much money?” said 
Walter laughingly. 

“ Not exactly that,” replied the Parisian, “ but we 
have a republic like the Americans, and of course 
are en rapport with them.” 

“ Well, Victor, I am sorry to say that I am en- 
gaged to-morrow afternoon, and to-night — well, old boy, 
I don’t feel like going anywhere — except going to 
sleep.” 

Victor stared at him in surprise. “ What has 
come over you now ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much,” answered Walter. They both 
went in and remained until the close of the opera. 
He said “ good-night ” to his friend, and in spite of 
all invitations to the contrary walked slowly to his 
hotel. 

“ Fate,” he muttered softly to himself, “ is not the 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


47 


ruler, but the servant of Providence. Is it my fate 
to love that girl — and perhaps not to be loved in re- 
turn ? I feel strangely blue to-night — I’ll run over 
to England for a day or so. No, I will stay, and let 
the worst come, whatever it is.” 


48 


YESTERjDA YS in PARIS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The day is pleasant for spring — somewhat warm. 
Marianne sits where we last saw her, by the window. 
The gentle breeze waves her hair, trying evidently to 
spoil its neatness. A little bird sings sweetly, perched 
on the branches of the lime-tree in the yard. The 
suburbs around Paris are at this time of year a pleas- 
ing relief from the metropolis ; the trees seem, with 
their redundance of leaf and blossom, compared with 
the trees of the boulevards, more rural and inviting. 
Here it seems as if all the wheels of loud, busy life 
were still. She is writing to her sister Valerie. We 
may look over her shoulder and see what she has 
written : “ My darling petite Valerie, — Have you met, 
since you have left me, any English people ? It seems 
to me so difficult to know an Englishman well. Be- 
tween us, the French, and them of the island, the 
British Channel always flows. There is an English- 
man here, a Mr. Walter Attenborough, to whom I 
have been introduced, whom I have met, though but 


VESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


49 


twice in that society which bounds the Paris world 
to me. He is the only son, I am told, of a man of 
wealth, and on both sides he belongs to the haute- 
aristocratic . He himself has that elegance of manner- 
and repose which we call air distingud. In most 
salons the eye would fix on him and involuntarily 
follow his movements. His manners are frank and 
natural, wholly without the stiffness said to character- 
ize the English generally ; but what strikes me most 
in this Englishman is the open expression of coun- 
tenance — in other words, sincerity. Mrs, Greer likes 
him ; she said this morning only, speaking of him ; 
‘ His eyes, at times, would light up a California, 
mine ! ’ She has so many queer expressions, n'est pas f 
He professes not to understand music, yet he spoke 
of it with an enthusiasm which delighted me, and 
last night at the Opera he spoke a great deal about 
it. He considers the Italians the children of music 
and song. They have it spontaneously in them — a 
part of their nature inborn. With us and the Ger- 
mans it is too much a matter of thought and study ; 
forced, not so natural as it ought to be. He talks 
exceedingly well — yet I could never fall in love with 
him. Colonel Pierre is well, and inquires after his 


50 


YES TEJADA VS IN' PARIS. 


Mittle puss,’ as he calls you. Gustave looks quite 
lonely without you. Grandmama — ” Here the fair 
writer seemed to be tired, and opening the piano be- 
gan to sing in a beautiful tone of voice, rich and full. 
Just then Walter reached the gate. It stood unfast- 
ened and ajar. He entered, then suddenly paused as 
he heard the voice of one singing low, singing plain- 
tively. He knew it was the voice of Marianne. 
Walter approached slowly, noiselessly, and remained 
standing at the entrance of the room. She finished, 
but did not see him at first, for her face was bent 
downward, musingly, as was often her wont, especially 
when alone. After singing, she raised her face, and a 
quick flush of surprise passed over it as she uttered 
his name, not loudly, not naturally, but inwardly and 
whisperingly, as in a sort of fear. 

“ Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” said Walter entering, 
“ but I heard your voice as I came in at the gate, and 
the air was so lovely that I listened almost spell-bound. 
How simple and sweet the words are! You must not 
laugh at me if I ask whose is the music and whose the 
words? Probably both are so well known, as to con- 
vict me of a barbarous ignorance, but you remember 
what I have already told you regarding music.” 


YESTEKDA YS IN PARIS. 


51 


“ Oh no,” said Marianne. “ In Europe both the 
words and music are comparatively unknown ; they 
are quite original — some old Southern negro melodies 
which my nurse taught me in my early childhood.” 

“ I have never been in America ; have often wished 
to go, and this air you have finished, so homelike, so 
much pathos, something altogether different from any- 
thing I have ever heard — are there more like this?” 
asked Walter. 

“Yes, there are many, and all beautiful; and fortu- 
nately for us people of mediocre ability, one does not 
have to be an artiste to sing them.” 

“Artiste,” exclaimed Walter! “how the word is 
abused. A cook calls himself an artiste ; a tailor does > 
the same ; a man who gets off stale jokes with a face 
blackened by burnt cork ; another who writes a sense- 
less play, or a spasmodic song, or a sensational novel, 
highly improbable and unreal, all these call themselves 
artistes. And so the word is cheapened and loses its 
force and orginal meaning.” So they talked together 
until the shadows of twilight began to fall. Marianne 
needed no words to tell her that she was loved — no, 
nor even a pressure of the hand, a glance of the eye ; 
she felt it instinctively, mysteriously — here w'oman’s 


52 


YESTEI^DA YS IN PARIS. 


wit is keener and truthfuller than man’s — yet withal she 
had a dull pain at her heart of regret — regret that she 
could not sympathize with the man before her — a sort 
of self-reproach peculiar to sensitive, kindly sympathetic 
natures like hers. Walter did not feel confident that he 
had reached the heart of Marianne ; he was conscious 
that he was interesting to her, that he had attracted 
her fancy, but often when charmed by her beautiful 
manner of thought, and the lively play of her features, 
he would sigh to himself and think, “ To natures so self- 
reliant and gifted what single mortal can be the all in 
all,” yet remembering that every pure-hearted girl loving 
truly, would naturally shrink from seeking the opportu- 
nities which it is for the man to court, he would take 
courage and ask himself if it was so hopeless after all. 

“To-morrow is Sunday, is it not?” asked Marianne 
suddenly. 

“ I believe so,” replied Walter. 

“ In one week more my darling little sister will 
return ; I am so glad !” 

“You miss her so much, then?” 

“ More than I can tell you. On Sunday we al- 
ways go to mass together, and afterwards visit poor 
mamma’s grave and deck it with flowers.” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS, 


53 


I always thought that mark of love and afifectioi\ 
to the dead so beautiful,” answered Walter ; “ flowers 
are so like some lives ; they hardly have time to 
sweeten and beautify this earth, before they are with- 
ered and gone.” 

“ But they leave their goodness behind them.” 

“ Let us hope so,” replied Walter looking tenderly 
on the fair girl beside him. Soon after Walter took 
his departure, and Marianne, left alone, seemed lost in 
thought, until Mrs. Greer touched her on the shoulder 
gently. 

“ What, love, wool-gathering again : who has been 
here ? ” she asked noticing the print of footsteps on 
the gravel walk to the gate. 

“ Mr. Attenborough,” answered Marianne softly. 

Mrs. Greer stroked gently the beautiful golden hair, 
and bending her head until her lips touched those of 
the fair one now being rapidly enveloped by the ap- 
proaching darkness of the evening, she asked, “ Do 
you, then, love him?” 

“ I hardly know,” she answered almost inaudibly — 
“ I am afraid not.” 


54 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Colonel Armand Pierre sat alone in his pleas- 
ant apartment on the evening of the same day Wal- 
ter saw Marianne. He was obliged to be near the 
President of the Republic (Thiers) in his official 
duties, and was of course at Versailles. He had been 
a great traveller, was a man of undoubted bravery, 
had during the war in Algiers been personally recom- 
mended to the Emperor Napoleon III. for valor in 
the field. But the request had not been noticed, as 
he was suspected by the Emperor to have a strong 
tendency towards Republicanism. He had been in 
America, and was an enthusiastic admirer of the 
Americans; was on the staff of one of the famous 
generals during the civil war between the North and 
the South, and had returned thoroughly convinced 
that the republic was the best form of government 
for France, whose best interests he had always at 
heart. His apartment bore evidences of his travels, 
in the shape of curiosities, and the walls were lined 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS, 


55 


with a heavy bookcase filled with books. Among 
politicians his opinions always had great weight, 
because it was well known that he never formed an 
idea rashly, nor without having previously given the 
subject careful and studious attention, which with his 
large experience in practical life he was well able, 
and well calculated to do. He had constant tempta- 
tions to espouse the cause of the Orleanists — Thiers 
himself was one formerly — he had now before him a 
letter from his cousin, one of the most renowned 
leaders in the cause of the Orleans princes, tempting 
him. It ran as follows: “Monarchy gains much by 
the loyal adhesion of any man of courage, ability, and 
honor. Every new monarchy gains much by conver- 
sions from the ranks by which the older monarchies 
were strengthened and adorned, but I do not here 
invoke your aid merely to establish monarchy, my 
cousin. I demand your devotion to the intereks of 
France” — (the reader will notice how adroitly the 
writer of the letter trys to touch the Colonel on his 
weak side, i, e,, a love of France). “Ah! you think 
that France is in no danger, that society is safe. 
Monarchy is our only salvation ; under it a religion 
honored, a national church secured. Under it all the 


56 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


material interests of the country — commercial, agricul- 
tural, will advance,” 

“ Pshaw,” muttered the Colonel to himself, so 
they think I will desert the ‘ sinister old man ’ as 
they call Thiers ; desert life-long principles for an 
hallucination ; the grandest form of government for 
an effete system.” 

Notwithstanding France had purchased liberty, 
equality, and fraternity at such an enormous expense, 
at the cost of much bloodshed, and so many deso- 
late firesides, liberty had many powerful enemies. The 
Duke de Broglie, one of Thiers’ most powerful politi- 
cal opponents — was strongly in favor of a constitu- 
tional monarchy. Thiers, when pressed by the Orleans 
princes, Joinville and Aumale, to restore the monarchy, 
politely declined in their presence, and remarked to 
Madame Thiers after their departure, “ These young 
fellows — I know them, do I not ? Always for them- 
selves ; themselves first, the country afterwards. 
When I served their father, I did not serve his for- 
tune, I served France. I greatly respect the memory 
of the king, but his children’s affairs are not those of 
the country. They have too often confounded the 
two, but I do not confound them. These princes 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


57 


wish me to become Orleanist again, but I desire to 
act for the good of my country.” Thiers, therefore, 
had to be gotten rid of and the government plunged 
into confusion. A more pliable man found — one who 
would favor constitutional monarchy and in time 
make way for it. This was the plan of the large 
party who favored monarchy. “Yes,” soliloquized the 
Colonel, “ when I was in America, they used to say 
to me, ‘Why is it you Frenchmen are so fickle? Why 
change your government so often ? ’ ” I could only 
answer them by a comparison to their Republican 
and Democratic parties, a man born a Democrat or 
a Republican, with the principles and doctrines of 
either party firmly grafted into his life of thought, 
would be apt to support his own party, throughout 
life, at any cost. So it is in France, a Bonapartist 
remains so, a Legitimist or Orleanist holds fast to 
the political faith of his father. It is simply the pre- 
ponderance of one or the other party which forms 
the government, the same principles apply on both 
sides of the ocean. “ There is sometimes in human 
events, a fatal succession of calamities,” says a French 
writer. “ From the infatuation of the crowd for the 
name of a warrior sprang the second empire of Na-t 


58 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


poleon III. From the senseless ambition of Napoleon 
III. came the Prussian invasion; from the invasion, 
the insurrection and the Commune, from these two 
civil war ; and as the last resulted from tremendous 
wrongs, it was naturally guilty of awful excesses.” 
Here the Colonel sighed profoundly, and taking from 
the drawer of his desk a bundle of letters, yellow 
from age, bound with a little bit of ribbon long since 
faded, he continued : “ These letters are the sole relic 
I have of one of my truest and best friends, Adolph 
Moreau. I remember so clearly his death* bed, his 
calm resignation — his last words : ‘ Armand Pierre, be 
a brother to my children, especially Marianne ; she in- 
herits much of my sympathetic nature, which may 
cause her trouble. You are much younger than I, 
but I trust you as I would no other man were he 
twice your age.’ And Marianne, I see her growing 
more and more beautiful every day ; her mind unfold- 
ing and developing day by day, like a beautiful rose, 
exhaling the fragrance of its truth and purity every- 
where. I feel my love for her growing stronger each 
hour. Even now I feel the aching void of loneliness. 
I never felt it before. She is a creature so utterly 
new to me, so unlike any woman I have ever before 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


59 


encountered and admired, with such wealth of mind 
and soul, so much alone, that — ” He paused, and his 
voice trembled as he added, “ That it would be a 
deep sorrow to me if, perhaps years hence, I should 
have to say, alas ! by what great mistake has that 
wealth been wasted.” No! I must see more of her, 
I have been too neglectful in my charge, but I sus- 
pect it w^as by reason of my reserve. I felt this love 
— I at first sought to check it, now I shall let it grow ; 
what has come over me ? 


6o 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The Lieut.-Cominander’s wife was a woman who had 
somewhat passed her thirty- fifth year. Not strikingly 
handsome, but extremely pretty. “ There is,” says a 
famous writer, “ only one way in which a woman can 
be handsome, but a hundred thousand ways in which 
she can be pretty,” and it would be impossible to 
reckon up the number of ways in which Susie Moore 
carried off the prize in prettiness. There was a sweet, 
gentle expression in her countenance, which poets 
would call “divine,” speaking unmistakably of a sweet 
nature and calm untroubled soul. She ruled the Com- 
mander, but in such a way nobody ever remarked it. 
He himself would indignantly deny the idea, were it 
broached to him. The apartments occupied by the 
Americans were very elegant. The hangings in the 
salon were of geranium-colored silk with double cur- 
tains of white satin. On a table of Russian malachite 
within the recess of the window, in a large glass case, 
was the ship, full-rigged, which the Lieut.-Commander 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


6i 


had been on during the hottest fights of the American 
civil war. It was a beautiful piece of mechanism. 
There were only a few pictures, but they were by the 
masters. Walter felt as he gazed around that his 
friend Victor was right when he had supposed, “ there 
was lots of money somewhere.” On the mantelpiece 
stood a clock and vases of Sevres that royalty itself 
could not eclipse. On all sides elegant mirrors re- 
flected the beauty of the salon. In the salle a manger^ 
or dining-room, costly exotics, hunting-pictures, and 
beautiful singing birds served to beautify and adorn. 
These Americans had adopted the French style, both 
of cooking and eating. Dinner with the French some- 
what resembles, in the matter of time and conversation, 
the old Roman supper. Here are told the events of 
the day, wit and humor run riot ; everything is not 
brought on the table at one time, but in courses — a 
sort of perpetual palate-tickling — and by this modera- 
tion of eating as well as drinking, one rarely if ever, 
witnesses that over-indulgence sometimes seen at Eng- 
lish and American tables. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Walter, I am delighted to see you,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Moore. “All this time in Paris, and you 
have only been once before to see us. What a sinner ! ” 


62 


YES TEJADA VS IN PARIS. 


“Madame,” answered Walter deferentially, “it was 
not sin, unless modesty be a sin, which made a rustic 
long hesitate before he dared to face the Queen of 
Graces.” 

“ Well said, Attenborough,” laughingly remarked 
the Lieut.-Commander. “ I, for my own part, am very 
glad to see anyone who can speak the English lan- 
guage fluently. We English-speaking people are natu- 
rally — if not indeed compelled by force of circum- 
stances — inclined to be clannish in the French capi- 
tal.” 

“Yet you speak the language remarkably well for 
a foreigner, and I must with all candor say, that I have 
observed that the iVmericans do speak French with a 
purer accent, and more grammatically than the Eng_ 
lish, as a rule,” remarked Walter. 

“ It does seem so,” exclaimed the fair hostess. “ Per- 
haps,” she added, “ it is owing to the greater similar- 
ity between the French and American, than the Eng- 
lish.” 

“ In what respect, my dear ? ” asked the Lieut.- 
Commander. 

“ In point of disposition. We have many French 
characteristics about us, which the English don’t seem 


YESTEI^DA YS IN PARIS. 


63 


to have. It always seemed to me that the Germans 
resembled the English the most — for instance, in their 
love of home and family, and in their steady, syste- 
matic, somewhat phlegmatic formation of mind and 
character, nest pas, Mr. Walter?” 

“Yes,” said Walter, somewhat thoughtfully, “but 
we English have many individualisms which the 
Germans don’t have. I suppose that is because we 
live on an island detached from the rest of the 
world by a channel, sometimes as impassible as our 
prejudices.” 

“ Island mastiffs, as your poet Shakespeare says,” 
remarked the Commander. “ But, Attenborough,’’ he 
added, “you are certainly the most candid English- 
man it has ever been my pleasure to meet.’' 

“ Thank you, sir,” replied Walter with a pleasant 
smile, “ but I have been in other places besides 
England, and so learned to draw comparisons.” 

“ And you are certainly just in your decisions,” 
said Mrs. Moore. “ But now dinner is ready, or 
‘ served,’ as they would say in your country.” 

“ I hope, Attenborough, that Paris air has sharp- 
ened your appetite,” remarked the Lieut.-Commander 
when they were seated at the table, “ for our cook 


64 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


is an ‘artiste,’ and don’t like to have his ‘works,’ as 
he calls them, slighted.” 

“ There is that word again,” thought Walter, but 
he said cheerfully, “ With my good digestion, sir, 
I need no stimulants in the shape of Paris air, or 
indeed ‘ air-y ’ kind.” Then, turning to the hostess 
he remarked apologetically, “ Excuse that atrocious 
pun.” 

“ Don’t apologize,” she answered in a laughing 
tone, “ we are brought up on them in America.” 

“ What splendid soup, my dear,” said the Com- 
mander to his wife, “what is the French for it?” 

“ Pot age h la bisque I' 

“Wonderful cooks, these French, eh, Attenbor- 
ough,” said the Commander sipping a little vin de 
madere. 

“ I believe nobody disputes their supremacy on 
that point at least,” said Walter laughing. 

“Just wait until you get to the entries , Atten- 
borough, sautes de fois gras 

“ i see your French holds out well on eatables, 
sir,” remarked Walter. 

“ My dear boy, I soon found out here in Paris, 
if one did not wish to die a premature death from 


YESTEJ^DA YS IN PARIS, 65 

poisoning, it would be best to know what you were 
eating.” 

Somehow the old proverb suggested itself to 
Walter, “Riches are always restless; it is only to 
poverty that the gods give content.” But he re- 
marked aloud, “ It must have required a careful 
watch during the siege.” 

“ I suppose, then^' remarked the hostess, “ it was 
not so much what one was eating, as to get some- 
thing to eat at all.” 

“ Stormy days those must have been,” said her hus- 
band. “ What are your politics, Attenborough ? ” 

“ My dear sir,” replied Walter, I am not a Le- 
gitimist, or Imperialist, or Orleanist, or Republican. 
I view things h^e as a simple observer ; a looker 
on. In other words, I am an Englishman, and of 
course neutral, but I believe it to be my duty to ac- 
cept for France that form of government which it 
establishes for itself, whatsoever that government 
may be.” 

“You Englishmen are certainly very cautious and 
non-committal, at any rate,” said the Commander. 
“ We Americans don’t hesitate to say that we are at 
all times decidedly in favor of a republic.” 


66 


YE STEED A YS IN PARIS. 


“ Very natural,” replied Walter bowing politely. 

“ Have you noticed particularly the Parisian youth, 
Mr. Walter?” asked Mrs. Moore of our friend. 
“ There are a class here who live on Absinthe, and 
a large class at that. They are old when they are 
boys. They live full gallop, hardly before they can 
really walk. Originally of sickly frames, they imbibe 
vast quantities of that fiery liqueur, which as you 
know operates very powerfully on the nervous sys- 
tem, and so at thirty they are worn out. It really 
makes one wonder sometimes what the next race of 
Frenchmen will be.” 

“Well, my love,” interrupted her husband, “let’s 
change the subject.” 

“ With all my heart ! what shall^it be ? ” 

“ Mr. Attenborough, do you smoke I I have got 
some splendid cigars a Cuban friend sent me re- 
cently.” 

“ Thank you, I never indulge.” 

“Well then, Attenborough, you and my. wife Susie 
can go and converse on Woman’s Rights or whatever 
you will in the drawing-room, or salon as these French 
call it, while I smoke here in peace.” 

“ Frank, I do wish you would take those horrid 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 6/ 

Cigars out in the street/’ said his wife going into the 
adjoining room. 

“ Do you hear that, Attenborough,” said the Com- 
mander, ‘ Those horrid cigars ! ’ That’s all women 
know about tobacco,” and laughing to himself, he 
lighted a cigar, and leaning back in an easy chair, 
looked the picture of content. 

“How did . you enjoy the opera the other even- 
ing?” I saw you did not use the libretto much,” 
said Mrs. Moore to our friend, when they were alone 
in the adjoining room. 

“ I enjoyed the music exceedingly ; as for the 
libretto, how little it interprets an opera ! How lit- 
tle we care to read it ! it is the music that speaks to 
us. Man is like a delicate instrument, and vibrates 
with pleasure according to the quality of the sound 
he hears, and his fitness to receive it. The soul of 
the composer, through the music, and the human 
voice which interprets it, enchants and enthralls us. 
What a divine and wonderful gift is the human voice ! 
And when an audience disperses, can you guess what 
griefs the singer may have comforted, or what hard 
hearts may have been softened — or what high thoughts 
or noble aspirations may have been aroused ? Yes ! 


68 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


it is the most beautiful of all arts, and as an art the 
youngest, being only about four hundred years old. 
But I tire you, do I not ? ” 

“ Oh no, answered Mrs. Moore kindly, I love to 
hear you talk about music. I love it so myself, and 
I have heard it said that thoughts and expressions 
can be put into music which words fail to convey. 
No genuine musician can express by words the ideas 
he conveys by means of music.” 

“ Mademoiselle Marianne is a fine musician, I 
think, don’t you ? ” she asked of Walter. 

“Yes; not only can she sing, but she really inter- 
prets the soul of the music,” replied Walter. Although 
he strove to utter this carelessly, she detected a ring 
of pain in his tones. 

“ He loves her,” she said to herself. “ I thought 
so.” 

Mrs. Moore, like most American women happily 
married, and of a lively temperament, was of a match- 
making disposition, and here was an opportunity not 
to be lost. She spoke more of Marianne, but could 
elicit no reply from Walter, all of which only tended 
to confirm her in the opinion she had formed. 

Walter soon after took leave of his friends. As he 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


69 


strolled slowly through the Champs Elysees, then 
filled with carriages and people returning from the 
usual races in the Bois de Boulogne, lamps below and 
stars above, he muttered to himself, “ What a strange 
thing is love ! Each human heart is a world in itself ; 
its experience profits no others ; in no two lives does 
it play the same part, yet it is the one common 
ground on which men and women meet and sympa- 
thize,” 


70 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER X. 

A FEW days after the events related in the last 
chapter, there was quite a little party assembled at 
the house of the Moreaus ; a sort of welcome for the 
sprightly little Valerie, who had returned from a long 
visit with friends in the South of France. Wherever 
Valerie was, there was life and merriment. Restless 
as a bird, she was continually on the qui vive for fun 
and merriment. Her return was a great comfort as 
well as relief for her sister, who, for the past fortnight, 
had not been at all like her old self. Besides the 
family. Colonel Pierre and Mrs. Greer were spending 
the evening. The Colonel was a prime favorite with 
Valerie, and her black eyes never failed to twinkle 
with fun when in a conversation with him. Just now 
she had caught up something which he had said, and 
with a quickness of satire which startled him, being 
a clever man himself, her retort put him on his met- 
tle, and he became brilliant also. With that match- 
less quickness which especially belongs to Parisians, 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


71 


the others in the room seized the new esprit de con- 
versation^ which had been evoked between the Colonel 
and the child-like girl beside him, and for a time 
flung the ball of wit lightly among them. Valerie at 
all times far outshone Marianne in wit and humor, 
and yet strange to say neither of them cared to the 
value of a straw about the distinction way down at 
the bottom of their pure, good hearts ; each was 
thinking only of the prize, which the humblest have 
in common with the highest — the heart of a man 
beloved. After a time the conversation became less 
general. Marianne was seated at the piano, lightly 
running her fingers over the keys, the Colonel, lean- 
ing on the piano, bent over close to her. 

“ I was thinking,” said the Colonel softly, “ only 
the other day, of your poor father, whom I always 
admired so much, although somewhat younger, and 
the thought then came to me, have I not been some- 
what remiss in my promise to him ? ” 

“ Which was ? ” answered Marianne in a low tone 
of voice — 

“ Which was,” continued the Colonel, “ to be to 
you like a brother, and I pray you to pardon my 
candor, if I, so much older than yourself — I do not 


72 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


say only in years but in the experience of life — whose 
lot is cast among those busy and positive pursuits of 
everyday existence, which must necessarily deaden 
that feeling in us we call romantic — if, I say, the 
deep heartfelt interest with which you must inspire 
all whom you admit into an acquaintance, causes me 
to utter one caution such as might be uttered by a 
friend or brother.” 

Marianne’s breast heaved beneath her robe ; she 
sighed softly, but answered nothing. 

“ I would caution you,” continued the Colonel in 
a low tone, “ in the great events of life not to allow 
fancy to misguide your reason. Judge of the human 
being for what it is in itself ; do not worship the 
shadow for the substance. Above all, don’t mistake 
sympathy of taste and feeling, for real love.” The 
Colonel absorbed in the passion of his adjuration, had 
not noticed or looked into the face of the fair girl by 
his side. Now that he had concluded, and heard no 
reply, he bent lower down and saw that Marianne^ 
was weeping silently. 

His heart smote him. “ Forgive me,” he ex- 
claimed, I have exceeded my rights in thus talk- 
ing to you, but it was not from want of respect 


YES TER DA VS IN PARIS, 


73 


and love ; it was from — ” He stopped ; the hand 
which was yielded to his he pressed gently, timidly, 
chastely. 

“Forgive!” murmured Marianne. “Do you for a 
moment think that I, an orphan, have never longed 
for a friend who would speak to me thus ? ” and so 
saying she lifted her eyes, streaming still, to his 
bended countenance. Eyes, despite their tears, so 
clear in their innocent frankness and purity, so in- 
genuous, so unlike the eyes of “ any other woman 
he had encountered and admired.” He had a quick 
sharp struggle with himself not to, then and there, 
declare his passion and love for her, but he only said 
quietly, “ My dear child ” (the French are very fond 
of using that word “ child ” in addressing women 
whom they love), “ I am so glad to be of service to 
you in some way, however slight ; but it has always 
seemed to me that for love — love such as I con- 
ceive it — there must be a deep and constant sym- 
pathy between two persons, not, indeed, in the usual 
and ordinary trifles of taste and sentiment, but in 
those essentials which form the root of character. 
Nature should be in tune with nature, then all the 
blossoms of one’s life will be kissed into beauty and 


74 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


fragrance by the warm sunshine of happy and con- 
tented love.” Marianne still remained silent, but that 
night, in the solitude of her chamber, she fell upon 
her knees in a prayer of thankfulness to the great 
Father of us all that he had sent her such a heart 
to love, and such an arm to support, for with a 
woman’s quick intuition, the voice of him who had 
thus spoken to her, spoke also of its own love, un- 
consciously perhaps, but none the less plainly. The 
Colonel on his way home murmured softly to himself, 
^‘Ambition has no prize equal to the heart of such 
a woman ; wealth no sources of joy equal to the 
treasures of her love.” 

“ Un veritable amant ne connait point d'amisP 
thought the lively little Valerie to herself, noticing 
the abstracted air of her sister. “ But never mind, I 
have my cher Gustave to tease yet I ” 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER XL 

In the Jardin des Tuilleries, within hearing of the 
soft soothing sound of the water falling in one of the 
beautiful fountains which adorn that very charming 
spot, sat our friend Mr. Walter Attenborough. The 
day was mild and balmy, the spring zephyrs softly 
rustled the leaves of the fine old trees. The palace 
itself, once the home of the beautiful Empress Eugenie, 
was in ruins — the work of the godless Commune, and 
notwithstanding the very liberal offers made to the 
government by wealthy Americans to rebuild it, still 
stood as it had left the hands of the destroyers. Wal- 
ter held in his hand a note from the wife of the Lieut.- 
Commander, enclosing an invitation to the next soiree 
of President Thiers, at the Elys6e (then his residence), 
from Colonel Pierre, who had sent it in this way, not 
knowing Walter’s address. It took place that same 
evening. Walter was debating whether to accept the 
invitation or not, and had just concluded to go, when 
his friend Victor Dufaure, approached, saying, “ Now, 


76 


YESTERDA YS lET PARIS. 


old boy, I have found you at last. I have only got 
about twenty minutes to spare, and I want you to go 
with me to Frascati’s for lunch. I want an oyster pati ; 
allons ! ” 

“ But I am not hungry at all,” replied Walter. 

“ Never mind,” said Victor, “ I am. Besides, I want 
to say something to you.” 

When they were seated together in the restaurant, 
Victor unfolded to his friend the details of a grand 
scheme, which his friend the financier was engaged on. 
An immense avenue to be called after him. “ There is 
a splendid chance for you, Walter ; the shares of the 
company have already risen fifteen per cent. Now is 
your time to buy.” 

“ Buy when shares are low and sell when they are 
high, as you say on the Bourse, Victor,” said Walter in 
a quiet but firm tone. “ Whatever money I require 
must be got in a fair manner.” 

“ What do you mean,” exclaimed Victor hotly, 
“ am I to understand that this scheme for the improve- 
ment of the city is not fair ? ” 

“ As far as the improvement part goes, it is cer- 
tainly fair, but the principle of inflating shares to a 
fictitious, unreal value, and then selling them to the 


YESTEJ^DA YS IN PARIS. 


77 


general public, knowing that their value at the time 
of seUing is false and not a permanent value, I con- 
sider that anything but fair and just, not to say dis- 
honest.” 

“Walter,” said his friend, “you are decidedly old 
fogyish. I have given you a chance to make money ; 
if you don’t wish to avail yourself of the opportu- 
nity, I am sure it is not my fault. I shall invest in 
the shares myself.” 

“ Tr^s bien7' answered Walter, “ only look out that 
it is not a case of diamond cut diamond.” 

That same evening, between the hours of nine and 
ten o’clock, Walter entered the Elysee. The scene 
was brilliant. Chinese lanterns were suspended from 
the trees of the garden, and the innumerable stars of 
the soft mild evening lit up the night shades. The 
inside was still more beautiful. Masterpieces by 
Meissonier, Horace Vernet, and Delaroche adorned 
the walls ; then the great salon with its walls covered 
with the richest silks which the looms of Lyons 
could produce. Every piece of furniture was a work 
of art in its way. Console tables of Florentine mo- 
saic, inlaid with pearl and ruby ; cabinets in which the 
exquisite designs of the renaissance were carved in 


78 


YES TER DA YS IN PARIS. 


ebony, colossal vases of Russian malachite, but wrought 
by French artists and French skill. Beyond this 
room lay the salle de danse., its ceiling gorgeously 
painted, and supported by white marble columns. 
The glazed balcony and the angles of the room filled 
with rare flowers, which shed a beautiful perfume 
throughout the hall. In the refreshment room on 
the same floor, were stored in glazed buffets, not- only 
vessels and salvers of plate, silver and gold, but more 
costly still, matchless specimens of Sevres and Lim- 
oges, and mediaeval varieties of Venetian glass. A 
little farther on was the conservatory, the air of 
which was laden with perfume. In one of the rooms 
stood Thiers — the most comprehensive, sagacious states- 
man France has ever produced, small in stature, but 
great in mind and intellect, receiving the guests in 
that pleasant agreeable manner of which he was such 
a master. Amongst all the lovely women there as- 
sembled, none were more lovely than our friends Mrs. 
Moore and Marianne Moreau, who were walking to- 
gether arm in arm as Walter entered. He shortly 
saw them, and wended his way through the ranks of 
beauty to where they were. 

“ Oh, Mr. Attenborough,” exclaimed the lively 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


79 


American lady, “ why didn’t you come with us to- 
day to Versailles ? We had such a lovely time under 
the grand old trees, and we saw the fountain play, 
and we had a lunch al fresco^ as they say, and — ” 
Here the fair lady stopped for want of breath. 

“ I did not get your note in time,” replied Walter 
laughing. 

Just then the band struck up a waltz, and Mari- 
anne was led away by a gentleman to whom she had 
previously engaged herself for this particular dance. 

Left alone with the fair American, Walter asked : 
“Your husband is — ” 

“ Oh yes,” she answered laughing, “ he is here, as 
big as life. But to change the subject, don’t you 
think Marianne looks lovely to-night ? 

“She always seems so to me,” said Walter as he 
followed her with his eye as she glided in the move- 
ments of the waltz. 

“ You love her, Walter,” said the American lady 
kindly. “ Trust in me as you would in your sisters, 
whom I met, you know, in London, and your mother, 
whom I so much admire.” 

“Ah, madame,” said Walter coloring and looking 
down, “you have guessed my secret, but please don’t 


8o 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


let it go any farther than yourself, for my sake ? ” 
Just then the Lieut.-Commander, seeing his wife and 
Walter, approached. 

“ Well, Attenborough, what do you think of this 
for Republican simplicity?” 

“ My dear sir,” replied Walter in a joking tone, 
“ I have come to the conclusion that politics are the 
most unsatisfying, tormenting, as well as irritating 
subject which a man can possibly enter upon, there- 
fore I decline to answer your question, for the present 
at least.” 

“ Ah, Attenborough, you Englishmen are sly dogs,” 
rejoined the Commander laughingly. 

Walter was about to reply when the Commander’s 
wife touched him on the arm and whispered softly, 
“ Marianne is in the conservatory alone. I just saw 
her there. Go in quickly and see her.” 

Walter bowed and started in the direction indi- 
cated by the American lady. 

Left with her husband, she exclaimed exultingly. 
There, Frank, I’ve done it.” 

Done what, love ? ” said her husband in an aston- 
ished tone. 

“Why that Englishman loves our pet Marianne, 


YESTERDA YS IN’ PARIS. 


8l 


and I have only waited to get an opportunity to get 
them together alone.” 

The Commander looked at his wife and drawing 
a long breath said, “ Upon my soul, Susie, you are the 
most confirmed matchmaker I ever saw.” 

In the conservatory, alone, breathing the perfume- 
laden air, Walter found the object of his search. “ No 
one,” he murmured to himself as he gazed unobserved 
on her, “ can feel more sensible than I of the charm of 
so exquisite a loveliness.” Then approaching her he 
said in a low tone, “ How sad it must be to find our- 
selves alone, solitary, unloved, and how different would 
life be, if shared and sympathized with by a congenial 
mind ; by a heart that beats in unison with one’s 
own ; and then how sweet the fame of which the one 
we love is proud. Oh, my darling ! oh, Marianne ! 
are we not made for each other ? Kindred tastes, 
hopes, and fears in common? I need a motive 
stronger than I have yet known for the persevering 
energy that insures success. Supply to me that mo- 
tive. I love you as man never loved before — do not 
reject my love.” 

Marianne was silent — her head drooped on her breast 
— there were tears in the downcast eyes. It is said 


82 


YES TEJADA YS IN PARIS, 


the woman who hesitates is lost. Marianne hesitated, 
but was not yet lost. The words she had just listened 
to moved her deeply ; words so eloquently impassioned 
had never before thrilled her ears. Yes, she was deeply 
moved ; and yet, by that very emotion, she knew that 
it was not to the love of this man that her heart re- 
sponded. There is a circumstance in the history of 
courtship familiar to the experience of many women, 
that while the suitor is pleading his own cause, his 
language may touch every fibre in the heart of his 
listener. Yet substitute, as it were, another presence 
for his own. She may be saying to herself, “ Oh, that 
another had said those words,” and be dreaming of 
the other while she hears the one. Thus it was now 
with Marianne, and not till Walter’s voice had ceased 
did that dream pass away, and with a slight shiver she 
turned her face towards him sadly and pityingly. 

“ It cannot be,” she said in a low whisper. “ I 
am not worthy of your love — could I accept it. For- 
get that you have so spoken ; let me still be a friend, 
admiring your talents, interested in your career. I 
cannot be more, my poor friend. Forgive me if I 
unconsciously led you to think I could. I am so 
grieved to pain you.” 


YES TER DA YS IN PARIS. 


83 


Walter pressed his hand to his heart with the sud- 
den movement of one who feels there an intolerable 
pain. His cheeks, his very lips were bloodless. 

“ Marianne, you know now from my own lips that 
I love you. I have been frank with you, be equally 
so with me. Do you love another ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Marianne with hollow tones, but 
with no trace of vacillating weakness on her brow and 
lips. Then, leaning her face on her hands, sobbed as 
if her heart would break. 

He passed from her — passed away from the flowers 
and the woman he loved — recovering himself gradu- 
ally from the stun of her crushing words, and with the 
haughty mien and step of the man who goes forth 
from the ruin of his hopes, leaning for support upon 
his pride. As he entered the grand salon, Mrs. Moore 
met him. 

“ Marianne needs you,” was all he could say. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said the kind-hearted lady to her- 
self, and Walter passed out into the darkness of the 
night and was soon lost to view. 


84 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A FEW days after this, Lieut. -Commander Moore 
was passing through the Boulevard des Italiens, about 
seven o’clock in the evening. The crowds were so 
thick, that it was hardly possible to move ahead. In 
front of the Cafe Americain was the largest gather- 
ing. In the centre of a group of friends stood 
Colonel Pierre. On seeing the American commander 
he at once came out from the crowd and shook 
hands heartily with him. 

“Have you heard the news?” asked Colonel Pierre. 

“ No ; what is it ? 

Thiers has been overthrown, and Marshal McMa- 
hon been elected President of the Republic. In re- 
ality it is a triumph for Thiers, for notwithstanding 
the powerful opposition by the Monarchists, they have 
only been able to overthrow Thiers, but not the Re- 
public, of which he is the father and founder. And 
now they are filled with mortification and rage, for 
McMahon is not the man to go against public opin- 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 85 

ion, and public opinion just now is strongly in favor 
of a Republic.” 

“ So, of course,” remarked the Commander, “ the 
Republic will continue the same as before.” 

“Just the same. You should have heard Thiers 
attack — or rather reply to an attack on the Duke de 
Broglie, who has been, you know, Thiers’ most bitter 
opponent. It was a masterpiece. Thiers is really as 
strong as ever, and everywhere liked and respected 
by the people.” 

“ Everything is quiet and orderly in the city. I 
am sure I should not have for a moment imagined a 
change in the government, judging by the calmness 
of the crowd,” said the Lieut. -Commander. 

“Naturally,” replied the Colonel, “it is not a peo- 
ple’s movement ; merely a political twist, and being 
such does not move the average mind to any great 
pitch of excitement. Besides that, Paris has had 
enough of excitement and giving vent to passions 
during the past five years.” 

“ I should say so,” replied the Commander. “ Na- 
tions have destinies like individuals, and I hope France 
will enjoy peace and prosperity for many years to 
come. But how are our friends, the Moreaus?” 


86 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


“I saw them last evening, all well. I believe Va- 
lerie is engaged to young Gustave Poyard, a very 
clever young man,” replied Colonel Pierre, and he 
added laughing, “ When I began to tease her, saying 
that perhaps he might prove fickle, etc., the little 
rogue said that she should carry him to the Isle of 
Man during the honeymoon.” 

“ I fear,” replied the Commander laughing in turn, 
‘‘ she would find the fair sex represented there also.” 

“ By the way, we — that is, the Moreaus and my- 
self — are getting up a picnic next week for Fontaine- 
bleau, in that grand old forest — one of the remnants 
of the middle ages — and we want yourself and wife to 
join us,” said the Colonel. Then the friends passed 
into the caf6 to hear the discussions on the topic 
of the day. That same morning, Mrs. Moore had 
received a letter from Walter’s mother, which read as 
follows : 

“ Walter is with us again. He has resigned his 
position on the Embassy and declares that he has no 
intention whatever of returning to Paris. I am afraid 
it is an ‘ affair of the heart,’ as the. French would say. 
He seems so unlike his former self. His sisters are 
of course delighted to have him back. He gives us 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


87 


no satisfactory reason for returning, but we are too 
glad to see him, to be particular as to the why. 
There is no one upon whose character and career a 
felicitous choice in marriage can have a greater effect 
than upon this dear son of mine. For in youth the 
genial freshness of his gay animal spirits, a native 
generosity mingled with great energy and ambition, 
somewhat alarmed me for his future. But what I 
now most fear for him is an exceeding sensitiveness — 
he may become morbid. He now seems to me chast- 
ened and sad. My boy has known some great sor- 
row. The quick intuition of a mother tells me this. 
This sensitiveness that forms so prominent a part in 
his character has its good features, it makes him tena- 
cious of his word once given, s^ cautious before he 
gives it. Public life I think to him is essential ; with- 
out it he would be incomplete, and yet I sigh to 
think that whatever success he may achieve in it, will 
be attended with proportionate pain. Calumny goes, 
side by side with fame, and courting fame as a man, 
he is as thin-skinned to slander as a woman. The 
wife for Walter should have qualities, taken by them- 
selves, not uncommon in English wives, but in combina- 
tion somewhat thus: She must have mind enough to 


88 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


appreciate his — not to clash with it ; she must be 
fitted with sympathies to be his dearest companion, 
his confidante in the hopes and fears, which the 
slightest want of sympathy would make him keep 
ever afterward pent within his breast ; in herself 
worthy of distinction, she must merge all distinction 
in his. I remember a remark which he once made 
to me : ‘ I should ache, mother, from head to foot, if 
I married a wife that was talked about for anything 
but goodness.’ No, Walter will have pains sharp 
enough if he live to be talked about himself, with- 
out another. I trust, my dear Mrs. Moore, you will 
pardon the liberty I have taken in burdening you 
with my mother’s anxieties and troubles, but Walter 
always speaks so kindly of you, and of your great 
kindness to him. I know you agree with me that 
oftentimes the women whom men most admire are 
not the women we, as women ourselves, would wish 
our sons or brothers to marry. But perhaps you do 
not fully comprehend my cause of fear, which is this, 
for in such matters men do not see as we women do 
— Walter abhors in the girls of our time, frivolity and 
insipidity. Very correct, you will say. True, but then 
he is too likely to be allured by contrasts. I have 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


89 


known him to be attracted by the very girls whom 
we recoil from more than we do from those we allow 
to be frivolous and insipid. I once accused him of 
admiration for a woman whom we would call danger- 
ous, and whom the slang that has come into vogue 
calls ‘ fast,’ and I was not at all satisfied with his an- 
swer : ‘ Certainly, I admire. She is not a doll, she has 
ideas.’ I would much rather of the two see Walter 
married to what men call a doll, than to a girl with 
ideas which are distasteful to women. Of course I 
am ignorant of the disposition, ideas, and character of 
the girl who has evidently won his heart. That she 
is a woman of character, I am sure of, but of what 
kind, I know not. She has not returned his love, or 
else he would not be with us despondent and heart- 
broken. She, of course, knows her own heart. ‘ Man 
proposes but God disposes,’ and so perhaps it is all for 
the best. But my poor boy ! Could she but see him, 
so changed, so unlike his former self, methinks it 
would soften a heart of stone. I have a woman’s 
curiosity to see the object of my son’s affections. I 
somehow feel she must be lovely in thought and 
deed. May God. bless her. I try to forgive her the 
great blow she has, no doubt unconsciously, given my 


90 YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 

son. When you come to London, be sure and call on 

US. 

That day Marianne happened to call at the house 
of Mrs. Moore. The latter, on seeing her, said, “ My 
sweet darling, give me your hand. Sit here beside 
me, dearest child.’' 

“ Child ! no, I am a woman — weak as a woman, 
but strong as a woman too,” replied Marianne. “You 
have something to tell me, what is it ? ” 

She handed her the letter. 

“Thank you so much,” said Marianne calmly, 
“ suspense makes a woman so weak — a certainty so 
strong.” Then she passed her hand over her forehead 
— it was a pretty way of hers when seeking to concen- 
trate thought — and was silent a moment or so. 

“ Did you ever feel,” she asked her friend dreamily, 
“ that there are moments in life when a dark curtain 
seems to fall over one’s past, that a day before was so 
clear, so blended with the present ? It has come to 
me now.” She read the letter through. Mechanically 
she smoothed and refolded it, then she extended it, 
saying softly, “ Poor Walter, I almost wish that I could 
love him.” 

“ Silly girl, no one loves you more than myself. 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


91 


and do you suppose I would let you sacrifice yourself? 
No, no, my darling, you love another, or else not at 
all; which is it, my dear?” 

Marianne hung her head ; her face coloring highly, 
but answered nothing. 

Well, well,” replied the kind-hearted Mrs. Moore, 
noticing her keen distress of mind, “ never mind, I 
won’t ask you. But when I write to Walter’s mother, 
what shall I say from you. She would like to hear 
something ; it would do her so much good.” 

“ Tell her this,” replied Marianne half sobbing, 
** that it is an inestimable value to have a mother 
like her. Love so ennobles those who hear its voice. 
Also, to tell her son how ardently I wish him to do 
well, and to fulfil more than the promise of his talents: 
tell him also this — How I envy him his mother.” 

When Marianne was alone in her room, she sat for 
a long time in a sort of stupor. Pressing her hands 
together and muttering to herself, “ What has hap- 
pened ? What have I done ? ” 


92 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

Victor Dufaure was very much at loss to know 
what had become of his friend Walter. One day in 
early June, when Paris began to think of the sea-side, 
and the gilded dome which marks the last resting-place 
of Napoleon L, the great emperor, was flashing in the 
warm rays of the sun, he received a short note — so 
short indeed, that he was at loss to know why it had 
been written at all. 

“ So Walter does not intend to come back to Paris, 
and has resigned his place in the Embassy. I wonder 
why. It must be some love scrape,” he muttered to 
himself. “ I can’t think who the deuce it is, unless 
it was that face I saw at the Opera that evening he 
left me. Well, poor fellow, just like these English. 
When they do get hit, they feel it. But they are so 
awfully thick crusted, that it is something extraor- 
dinary when they do give up. I must get acquainted 
with the fair charmer myself,” and Victor compla- 
cently stroked his long black whiskers, and glanced at 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


93 


the mirror. But, ma foi^ I must be at the Bourse.” 
So, after a ten minutes’ reflection, the gay Parisian dis- 
missed all thought of his friend, and Walter and his 
troubles were forgotten. 

Not so with Marianne, the first few days after 
Walter’s departure. She was in constant fear lest his 

absence should be remarked and traced to that mem- 

« 

orable interview in the conservatory. Mrs. Greer, who 
felt like a mother toward the motherless girl, noticed 
the sad expression on the face of Marianne, but from 
delicacy forbore making any comment. Valerie was 
too much absorbed in her own visions of future hap- 
piness to give much attention to what was transpir- 
ing around her, for what with visits to the great 
magasin of Paris, the Bon Marche, and consultations 
with the dress-maker, and long walks with Gustave in 
the Bois, her time was fully occupied ; but at times 
the overburdened heart will betray itself, and it so 
happened to Marianne. One evening, about twilight, 
and at this time of year the days were at their 
longest, Mrs. Greer, the Colonel, and Valerie and her 
future husband, were seated together in the pretty 
little house near the Bois de Boulogne, already de- 
scribed. Marianne was singing. Her sister Valerie 


94 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


whispered softly to Gustave, “ Her voice sounds pe- 
culiar to me, as if the heart had known some great 
sorrow. She seems to be bidding farewell to a com- 
panion of former days, with whom, once dismissed 
into the world, she can never converse familiarly 
again ; it ceases to be her companion when it becomes 
ours. Do not let us disturb the last hours they will 
pass together.” 

“ Does music convey so much to you ? ” asked 
Gustave in a wondering tone of his fiancee. 

“ I know my darling sister so well, that when she 
sings I can often read the emotions which rule her 
by the peculiar intonation of her voice at the time,” 
replied Valerie. 

“Yes, answered Gustave, that shows how much 
sympathy there is between people. Everybody likes 
music, that is, nearly everybody. Yet all differ as to 
the kind. Some like minor keys, others major, and I 
have heard it said that everybody has one chord 
which seems to strike them the most effectively. 
Sometimes one single note will do it. 

“ Very true,” said the Colonel, who had overheard 
part of the foregoing conversation. “ Alongside of 
the real life expands the ideal life, to those who seek 


YE STEED A YS IN PARIS 


95 


it. Everbody leads two lives, a life of action and a 
life of thought. The ideal life has its sorrows, but it 
never admits despair. As on the ear of him who fol- 
lows the winding course of a stream, the stream ever 
varies the note of its music, now loud with the rush 
of the falls, now low and calm as it glides by the 
level edge of smooth banks, now sighing through the 
waving of reeds, now babbling with a fretful joy as 
some sudden curve on the shore checks its course 
among gleaming pebbles. So to the soul of the true 
artist is the voice of Art, ever fleeting beside and 
before him.” Here the Colonel went across the room 
to where Marianne sat, and was soon engaged, in a 
low tone of voice, in an eager conversation. 

“ Coming events cast their shadows before,” thought 
Mrs. Greer, as she watched them together — “ Mari- 
anne’s face so cheerful and animated, and a rich rosy 
hue on her cheek.” A few days after a lively ani- 
mated group were waiting at an early hour of the 
morning to take the train for Fontainebleau. Large 
hampers of provisions, and here and there the neck 
of a bottle just visible, met the eye at every turn. 
Among the party were the Lieut.-Commander and his 
charming wife. Marianne and her sister, together with 


96 


Y ESTER DA YS IN PARIS. 


their aged grandmother, Mrs. Greer and the Colonel, 
and lastly Gustave, but not least, as this f^te charn- 
petre was partly in honor of his approaching mar- 
riage with Valerie. They were soon on the train, and 
as they moved rapidly along, the Colonel pointed out 
the spots where bloody encounters with the Germans 
had taken place at the time of the siege of Paris. 

“ Ah yes,’' he said turning to the Lieut.-Command- 
er, “ the Germans beat us badly. But if we had only 
had a needle gun ! ” 

“ If you had only had something like that during 
the war between Prussia and Austria, you could have 
stepped in and made Prussia a second-class power,” 
remarked the Commander. 

“ Ah,” sighed the Colonel, “ the corruptness of the 
Empire extended even to the army, and when we 
marched against the trained skilled forces of the Ger- 
mans, we toppled as easily as the form of government 
called Empire. Everything was rotten, and of course 
the tumble was universal.” 

“ There was, however,” replied the Lieut.-Command- 
er, one great pardoning feature, and that was the 
gallantry and bravery of the French troops. One of 
my countrymen, who was with your army at different 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


97 


points, told me you were outnumbered at every bat- 
tle. The Germans seemed to have the faculty of 
throwing twice as many men at a given place as the 
French.” 

“ Bad management and poor generalship,” responded 
the Colonel laconically. 

“ That seemed one of your great weaknesses ; the 
want of some ruling head. You had plenty of talent, 
but no genius,” answered the Lieut.-Commander. If 
you could only have had Napoleon the First for a 
short time, methinks the Germans would have met 
their Waterloo.” 

“Fontainebleau!” shouted the guard, and the train 
stopped. 

The baskets were soon emptied of their contents, 
and a table was laid under the overhanging branches 
of one of the grand old trees of that famous forest. 

“ Did you ever notice,” said Colonel Pierre as he 
held a glass of sparkling champagne in his hand, how 
much the character of a people depends upon the 
quality of the liquor it drinks ? ” Par exemple, the 
wines of Italy — heady, irritable, ruinous to the diges- 
tion — contribute to the character which belongs to 
active brains and disordered livers. The Italians con- 


98 


YESTERDA VS IN PARIS. 


ceive great plans, but they cannot digest them. The 
English common people drink beer, and the beerish 
character is stolid, rude,, but stubborn and enduring. 
The English middle class imbibe port and sherry, and 
with these strong potations their ideas become cloudy 
and thick, their character has no liveliness ; amuse- 
ment is not one of their wants. They sit at home 
after dinner, and doze away the fumes of their bev- 
erage in the dulness of domesticity . If the English 
aristocracy is more vivacious and cosmopolitan, it is 
due to the wines of France, which it is the mode 
with them to prefer. But still, like all plagiarists, they 
are imitators, not inventors — they borrow our wines 
and copy our manners.” Here a round of applause 
greeted the gallant Colonel. 

“ I suppose this is an after-dinner speech,” said 
Mrs. Greer, who was his nearest neighbor. 

The Colonel smiled and continued, “ The Germans 
drink acrid wines, varied with beer, to which last their 
commo7ialty owes a resemblance in stupidity and en- 
durance to the English masses. Acrid wines rot the 
teeth. Germans are afflicted with toothache from in- 
fancy. All people subject to toothache are senti- 
mental. Goethe was a martyr to toothache. Werther 


YESTERDAYS IN PARTS. 


99 


was written in one of those paroxysms which predis- 
pose genius to suicide. But the German character is 
not all toothache ; beer and tobacco step in to the re- 
lief of Rhenish acridities, blend philosophy with sen- 
timent, and give that patience in detail which distin- 
guishes their professors and their generals. Besides, 
the German wines in themselves have other qualities 
than that of acridity. Taken with sauerkraut and 
stewed prunes they produce fumes of self-conceit. A 
German has little of French vanity; he has German 
self-esteem. He extends the esteem of self to those 
around him. His home, his village, his city — all be- 
long to him. It is a duty he owes to himself to de- 
fend them. Give him his pipe and his sabre, and he 
can fight as we French know to our cost. The 
Americans” — here the Colonel smiled and turned to- 
ward the Lieut.-Commander. 

“ Ah yes,” said the latter, *‘we Yankees drink 
hard cider, and it makes us hard headed.” 

“ Very true,” replied the Colonel laughing, “ but 
you have another liquor made from rye and other 
grains, which seems to be more popular. Its effect 
on people is something like laughing gas. It varies 
according to the predominant traits of the subject.” 


100 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


After a toast had been drank to the health of 
Gustave and Valerie, and the prosperity and happi- 
ness of their prospective union, the company divided 
itself in small sections, and wandered at will among 
the forest, or reclined at ease on its mossy couches. 
Marianne and the Colonel sauntered slowly together 
under the shade of the grand old trees, which 
like guardian spirits seemed to hover over them. 
At last they reached a secluded spot where all 
seemed peaceful and quiet — the birds sang sweetly, 
as if unconscious of the nearness of the great city. 

“ Marianne,” said the Colonel softly. 

At the sound of her own name from those lips 
in such a tone, every nerve in her frame quivered. 

“ Marianne, I have tried to live without you. I 
cannot. You are all in all to me ; without you it 
seems to me as if earth had no flowers, and even 
heaven had withdrawn its stars. Are there differences 
between us ? Differences of taste, of sentiments, of 
habits, of thought ? Only let me hope that you 
can love me a tenth part so much as I love you, 
and such differences cease to be discord. Love har- 
monizes all sounds, blends all colors into its own 
divine oneness of heart and soul. Marianne, there 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS 


lOI 


is one name which I can never utter without a 
reverence due to the religion which binds earth to 
heaven — a name which to man should be the symbol 
of life cheered and beautified, exalted, hallowed. That 
name is ‘ wife.’ Will you take that name from me, 
darling ? ” 

For a moment only she was silent, then the 
fair head sank on his shoulder, as she softly mur- 
mured, ‘‘Yes, Armand;” and the birds sang on, the 
only witnesses on earth. 

Together they returned to where the aged grand- 
mother sat, in all the beauty of happy old age. 

“Your blessing, grandmother,” said Marianne kneel- 
ing at her feet. 

The old lady understood all. “ God bless you, 
my darling,” she said as her aged eyes filled with 
tears. “T have only you and Valerie left.” 

“ And me too, grandmother,” said the Colonel. 

And so united, their lives would, like a river, 
flow on peacefully through flowery meadows to the 
broad ocean of eternity. 

******* 

^ A short time after Valerie was married to Gus- 
tave, and they went for the honeymoon, not to 


102 


YESTERDA YS IN PARIS. 


the Isle of Man, but to the country of man — 
Switzerland. Marianne’s wedding was to take place 
shortly after. Victor has stopped speculating, but 
not until he dearly paid for if. Those beautiful and 
costly apartments are no more to him. The great 
financier ran the stock of his new avenue to a 
high figure, then neglected to tell his friend Victor 
to sell, but unloaded his own stock on the credu- 
lous public, who soon found it to be worthless, 
Victor of course among them. Lieut.-Commander 
Moore and his lovely wife are in America, the 
land of pretty gals and cider,” as he says. Mrs. 
Greer in the sunny South often thinks of her “Yes- 
terdavs in Paris.’’ 


THE END. 


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27. What’s the Matter? 20c. 

26. Yesterdays in Paris 25c. 

25. Maple Hall Mystery 25c, 

24. Mrs. Singleton 40c. 

23. Old Nick’s Campmeetin’ 60c. 

22. One Little Indian 26c. 

21. Vic 30c. 

20. Persis 25c. 

19. Ninety Nine Days 35c. 

18, Spiders and Rice Pudding 25c. 

17. How it Ended •. 25c. 

16. Bera, or C. and M. C. R. R 40c. 


No. 

15. Glenmere 25c. 

14. Poor Theophilus 25c. 

13. Only a Tramp 50c. 

12. Who Did ItV 30c. 

11. Our Peggotties 25c. 

10. Our Winter Eden 30c. 

9. Nobody’s Business 30c. 

8. Story of the Strike 30c. 

7. Lily’s Lover 35c. 

6. Voice of a Shell 40c. 

5, Rosamond Howard 25c. 

4. Appeal to Moody (satire) 10c. 

3. Bonny Eagle 25c. 

2. Prisons Without Walls 25c. 

1. Traveller’s Grab Bag .25c. 


Remarkably clever. — N. Y. Evening Express. 

Readable and amusing. — American Bookseller. 

Decidedly bright and entertaining.— C'/itmgro Herald. 

Especially desirable as companions on a journey. — Sunny South, 
Atlanta. 

Cheap, convenient, and by popular authors. — Epis. Methodist, 
Baltimore. 

Bright and breezy, and above all, pure in sentiment. — Boston 
Transcript. 

Breezy, bright, little books, always unexceptionably pure in 
sentiment, — Cincinnati Commercial. 

The brightest and best brief works by American authors who 
are well known to the reading public. They have proved very 
popular. — Boston Home Journal. 

The convenient form of the books in this series, and their brev- 
ity, fit them especially for reading upon railway trains or in idle 
half-hours anywhere. — N. Y. Evening Post. 

The “Satchel Series” — a significant title, as the handy size, 
clear print, and reasonable length of each book seem to qualify 
it for being read in railway cars and slipped into the convenient 
satchel, safely out sight. — Phila. News. 


4 


THE authors’ publishing COMPANY. 


EDUCATION, HISTOEY, SCIENCE. 


Camping in Colorado. With Suggestions to Gold-Seekers, Tour- 
ists and Invalids. By S. E. Gordon $1.00. 

Chronic Consumption, Prevention and Cure of. By David Wark, 

M. D ' 80cts. 

Complete Scientific Grammar of the English Language. By 

Prof. W. COLEGROVE, LL.D $1.25. 

Fast and Loose in Dixie. By Gen’l J. Madison Drake $1.50. 

Linda; or Ueber das Meer. Travels in Germany. Eor Young 

Folks. By Mrs. H. L. Crawford $1.25. 

Roman Catholicism in the United States $1.25. 

Spelling Reform Question Discussed. By E. H. Watson. . .25cts. 
Universe of Language. By E. H. Watson $1.50. 


POEMS. 

Columbia. A National Poem. By W. P. Chilton $1.00. 


Cothurnus and Lyre. By E. J. Harding $1.00. 

Mystic Key. A Poetic Fortune Teller and Social Amusement 

Book. Edited by Miss E. E. Biggs 75cts. 

St. Paul. By S. Miller Hageman 75cts. 

Sumners’ Poems. By S. B. and C. A. Sumner. 8vo, $4 : 12mo $2.50. 
Wild Flowers. By C. W. Hubner $1.00. 


It is a pleasure to read books so well made. Indeed, the books 


of these publishers become more attractive in appearance with 
every succeeding publication. — N. Y. Mail. 

The binding and get-up are very attractive, and the clear type 
and cream tinted paper are a relief to the weakest eyes. — Depart- 
ment Review, Washington, D. C. 


NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS. 


6 


POLITICAL AND PRACTICAL. 

Individual Rights. By Martin Kyerson 25cts 

Is Our Republic a Failure ? A Discussion of the Bights and 
the Wrongs of the North and the South. By E. H. Wat- 
son $1.50. 

Manuscript Manual. How to Prepare Manuscripts for the 

Press . . lOcts. 

Mercantile Prices and Profits. By M. K. Pilon. (In Press.) 

Race for Wealth. By James Gordey 50cts. 

Scrap Books, and How to Make Them. By E. W. Gurdey. 40cts. 
What is Demonetization of Gold and Silver ? By M. B. 

Pilon 75cts. 

Women’s Secrets, or How to be Beautiful. A Toilet Manual. 
By Louise Capsadell. Cl. 75cts; paper 25cts. 


MECHANICAL EXECUTION 

of books issued by the authors’ publishing CO. 

Excellent paper and clear type . — Hebrew Leader. 

Admirably printed . — Reformer and Jewish Times. 

Well printed, handsomely bound.— Bos/on Herald. 

Handsomely issued volumes. on Sat. E.rpress^ 

A superior style of publication . — Sunny South, Atlanta. 

Neatly bound; the print is clear and distinct.— C/iwrc/i Union, 
N. Y. 

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Journal. 

' Beautifully gotten up, and worth more than the price. — F. E’. 
Wadleigh, Washington, D. C. 

The works issued by this company are beautifully printed and 
in active demand. — Elizabeth, N. J-, Daily Monitor. 

Printed and bound in the neat and attractive manner that char- 
acterizes everything that emanates from their establishment.— 
Peoria Call. 


6 


THE ArTHORs’ PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


AUTHOE'S MANUSCEIPT PAPER. 

Manufactured by the Authors’ Publishing Company, white 
paper, flat sheets, ruled only on one side, and sold only in ream 
packages. Each package warranted to contain full count of 480 
sheets. 

lyvo Grades, differing only in thickness and ^?eight : 


Manuscript Paper, No. 1 $1.25. 

Manuscript Paper, No. 2 $1.00 


By mail 50 cents per ream extra. Specimens mailed on receipt 
of three-cent stamp. 

Special discount to editorial offices. 


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of Education. 

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printer. — Providence Town and Country . 

A first rate article. Meets the wants of a large class of writers 
better than anything else which has come to our notice. — American 
Bookseller. 

It is made from superior stock, is of convenient width and grade, 
and is approved by writers and preferred by printers. — Western 
Stationer and Printer, Chicago. 

The distinguishing feature of the Manuscript Paper is its con- • 
venient shape. The texture is neither too thick nor too thin, 
making it in every way a desirable paper for writers and contrib- 
utors. — Acta Columbiana, N. Y. 




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Feto novel series have attained such unbounded popularity as the Satchel Series. They are found at every news- 
stand, in every bookstore, and in every railway train ; and are universally commended. — Mirror and 
American, Manchester, N. H. 


No. 26. Each Volume Complete. 


THE SATCHEL SERIES. 

COMPRISING 

Story, Romance, Travel, Adventure, Humor, Pleasure. 

— BY — 

POPULAI\ AMERICAN AUTHORS. 


No. 27. 

What’s the Matter ? . . . . 

. 20c. ' 

No. 

14. Poor Theophilus 

.25c. 

( < 

26. 

Yesterdays in Paris 

25c. 

( ( 

13. Only a Tramp 

.50c. 


25. 

Maple Hall Mystery 

.25c. 

( ( 

12. 

Who Did It ? 


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24. 

Mrs. Singleton 

.40c. 

( < 

11. 

Our Peggotties 

.25c. 

( ( 

23. 

Old Nick’s Camp-Meetin’. 

.50c. ! 

( ( 

10. 

Our Winter Eden 

.30c. 

( ( 

22. 

One Little Indian 

.25c. ! 

( ( 

9. 

Nobody’s Business 

.30c. 

< < 

21. 

Vic 

.30c. 

( < 

8. 

Story of the Strike 

.30c. 

i ( 

20. 

Persis 

.25c. 

( ( 

7. 

Lily’s Lover 

.35c. 

< ( 

19. 

Ninety Nine Days 

35c. 

( ( 

6. 

Voice of a Shell 

.40c. 

< ( 

18. 

Spiders and Kice Pudding. 25c. 

( ( 

5. 

Rosamond Howard 

.25c. 

( ( 

17. 

How it Ended 

.25c. 

( ( 

4. 

Appeal to Moody, [satire] 

.10c. 

( ( 

16. 

Bera, or C. & M. C.H. R. 

. .40c. 

( ( 

3. 

Bonny Eagle 

.25c. 

( ( 

15. 

Glenmere 

.25c. 

i ( 

2. 

Prisons Without Walls. . . 

.25c. 





“ 

1. 

Traveller’s Grab Bag 

. 25c. 


Handy little volumes. — Philadelphia Record. 

Decidedly bright and entertaining. — Chicago Herald. 

Really of a lively and spicy character. — American Monthly Magazine. 

Gotten up in a fresh style and printed in plain type. — Pittsburg Leader. 

Cheap, convenient, and by popular authors. — Epis. Methodist, Baltimore. 

Bright and breezy, and above all, pure in sentiment. — Boston Transcript. 

They deserve well of the reading public. — Illustrated Christian Weekly. 

Readable and amusing ; will help to enliven a journey. — American Bookseller. 

Especially desirable as companions on a journey of any kind. — Sunny South, Atlanta. 

Bright, elegant and charming — nothing trashy about them. — Journal, Summerville, Mass. 

Breezy, bright little books, always unexceptionably pure in sentiment, — Cinninnati Commercial. 

Just the books to read in cars, at seashore, or during leisure hours at home.— Chronicle, Farmington, Me. 
Remarkably clever little books ; just the thing for the country, watering-places, hotel verandas, or 
under the shade of sighing trees. — N. Y. Express. 

The convenient form of the books and their brevity, fit them especially for reading upon railway 
trains or in idle half-hours anywhere. — N. York Ev. Post. 

The brightest and best brief works by American authors who are well known to the reading public. 
They have proved very popular, particularly as travelling companions. — Boston Home Journal. 

For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents in the United States. Sent 
by mail post paid, on receipt of price, by the 

AUTHORS’ PUB. CO., PUBLISHERS, 

27 Bond. St., New York. 

















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N. MANCHESTER. 


INDIANA 


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